Brunel Park Gardens
A tale of botany and amputation by strzeka (03/23)
Where to begin? It was the perennial problem with Brunel Park. It had been a grace and favour home, bestowed upon a sixteenth century nobleman for some favour to the monarch. It had been sold and rebought, fought over, partially destroyed and rebuilt in the Graeco-Roman style fashionable before Victoriana. After the Second World War, an intestate scion passed away, leaving the house and grounds the responsibility of the county court, who being completely bankrupt, wanted nothing to do with it. After standing empty for almost a decade, it was acquired by a charitable association founded by Lady Madeleine Brunel, ostensibly to care for disadvantaged orphans. It was her intention to put them to work on the estate, renovating the house and creating botanical gardens to rival Kew.
Her first experiences with disadvantaged orphans were not to her liking. Many of them were too young to work, their schooling was a nightmare to organise and many of them displayed a most appalling lack of self-control. Lady Madeleine subtly altered her charity’s mission to be the care of disabled youngsters, and in a stroke of genius narrowed the description to physically disabled youngsters. They would receive her tried and true physical therapy, gardening. There was no point in accepting bed-ridden vegetables. She would prefer to grow her own, she reasoned, rather than accept other people’s. Throughout the following decade, Brunel Park House rang with the sound of construction work inside and outside the house as the interior was updated slowly into the twentieth century and the exterior was nurtured back to the eighteenth.
Lady Madeleine’s profitable scheme was curtailed by the local authorities who became curious about the phenomenal increase in property value as reported to the Exchequer. Inspectors discovered well–fed but under-schooled teenagers employed in a wide variety of tasks from gardening and landscaping to plumbing and plastering. All the youngsters were male, otherwise healthy except for their physical disabilities, which ranged from phocomelia to spina bifida, but with most of the inmates suffering amputation to a lesser or greater degree. During the investigation into abuse and exploitation, Brunel Park underwent yet further change. It was taken over by the county university’s biology department and in the unavoidable tenacity to tradition, it was agreed that the grounds would continue to be tended by physically disabled students who lived in digs on the second floor of Brunel Park House. The house and grounds were finally part of the National Trust. The university’s botanical division had long striven to include as many varieties of endangered plants as possible on the estate, which became known as Brunel Park Gardens. It was not as comprehensive as Kew but in many ways was more admired, both for its exquisite selection of rare plants and also for the admirable determination of the disabled young men who tended to them.
The latest phase in Brunel Park’s was initiated when the National Trust deemed the botanical gardens and the old manor house to be of sufficient interest to open to the general public. Most of the disabled students would continue their research and practical work while three of their number, mainly seniors, would take on the responsibility of showing the gardens and educating the public or guiding visitors around the ground floor of the house, which had been restored to its original resplendence. After parking facilities were built and a tamper-proof system for admitting paying visitors was installed, Brunel Park Gardens were declared open to the public from mid‑April to the end of October.
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April 15
The three most senior students drew straws to decide which of them would guide visitors around the house, and which would brave the vagaries of the weather outside. All three were perfectly capable of any of the roles. Taylor Knight was reading botany and history, Robin Jenkins was reading English literature and biology and Manley Harding was reading transitional agriculture and biochemistry. They were uniquely suited to the task not only by their specialised knowledge but also by Brunel Park’s signature characteristic, limblessness. Knight was legless, Jenkins and Harding sported bilateral artificial arms. As luck would have it, Taylor selected the short straw and would stay inside. They spent several evenings honing their scripts, descriptions of Brunel Park’s unique features including common and Latin names of the plants and a history of the manor house’s architecture and interior design. No-one had recommended any kind of identifying uniform for the representatives, so they connived amongst themselves and applied for grants, enthusiastically provided, for Scottish attire—kilts and waistcoats in a green and blue tartan, long white socks, brown brogue shoes, white cotton shirts with frills, blue silk ties and large furry wolfskin sporrans. To complete the look, and with only three weeks before opening day, they all agreed to allow their moustaches to grow. They would compete amongst themselves for the most hirsute, most luxurious whiskers. Three days before the Grand Opening, their chosen uniform was delivered. Taylor dressed himself first while Robin and Manley watched the convolutions they should repeat with their bilateral hooks. Taylor had no use for his long, natural white woollen socks and simply placed the smart new shoes onto his artificial feet. He twisted himself up and stood, waiting for the others’ appraisal. Apart from his naked steel pylons, he looked like any young Scot in a kilt. Rob and Manny set to work donning the clothes while Taylor watched Robin energetically persuading his above-elbow prostheses to do his bidding. Manny managed the job first, leaving the shirt buttons and tie for Taylor. The trio admired each others’ appearance, knowing that they themselves looked very similar.
– I wish we had short-sleeved shirts. I want to show my arms off. If Taylor can get away with displaying his peg legs, I think we should too.
– I can roll your sleeves up if you want. You’ll have to ask the matron if one of the housekeepers can shorten the sleeves for you. Tell her the long sleeves interfere with your prostheses.
– Yeah, good idea. I’ll do that.
There was no uniform jacket. They were ferociously expensive and required far more detailed fitting than the rest of the outfit. The boys all owned black leather jackets of some description which were also favoured north of the border.
On Sunday morning at nine o’clock, the gates to Brunel Park Gardens were opened to the public. A few cars crawled in and followed the signage to the car park. Visitors were then signposted to Visitor Registration in the house’s entrance hall, where they could buy tickets entitling them to view the house and gardens under their own power, or to pay an additional fee for a guided tour to both or either. Cashier Darren Weaver sat behind a table covered with postcards and twelve page glossy brochures describing the venue. Not having a kilt, he compensated by wearing a pair of black shorts with a shirt and tie. His artificial leg was plainly visible as visitors climbed the few steps into the hall and he deftly dealt tickets and handled cash and credit cards with his full-length artificial arm, using his non-dominant right hand only rarely. Many visitors wanted to see not only the grounds and the house but also the resident students and their prosthetic limbs. Admiring an amputee because of his amputation was taboo but accepted. Those students deemed the most responsible were party to one of Brunel Park’s most veiled secrets. If they recognised genuine admiration in a young visitor, there was a procedure to begin the route to voluntary amputation. The system had been in place since Lady Brunel’s days, when her one‑time lover and struck‑off orthopaedic surgeon Sir Charles Piggott‑Smythe would whip off a limb as soon as look at it. Many of the youngsters at Brunel during Madeleine’s day had had slight limb deformities replaced with healthy stumps and artificial limbs as a regular cure. The original perpetrators were long in their graves but the practice continued. The limbless students agreed to a man that an amputation was a completely acceptable outcome regardless of whether the new invalid had suffered from some limb difference or not.
The first visitors were an enthusiastic bunch. News of the opening had featured in local news broadcasts and streams for several weeks and a short documentary, more like a filler, had been broadcast the previous week on the national channel. It had concentrated on imperial glories which were the source of the manor house’s opulence and the history of the gardens which were currently overseen by students. None of them were shown, nor was their distinguishing characteristic mentioned. Encountering Darren when they paid for admission was a shock and surprise but it paled when Taylor arrived to collect the first small group for a half hour tour of the ground floor. The chatter among themselves quietened as they noticed a young man in a kilt with a flamboyant sporran rocking his way towards them, his spindly artificial legs easily the most remarkable thing about him. Darren paid him no attention. He greeted his first astonished group.
– Good morning everyone. Welcome to Brunel Park. My name is Taylor Knight and I will be your guide. Our tour will take about thirty minutes and I will do my best to answer your questions as we walk around. Let’s start in this entry hall. Follow me, please.
Taylor swayed himself around in several stages and kicked his pylons into motion. He walked to one side of the large main door and launched into an explanation of the layout of the house which conformed to early eighteenth century ideals. The building appeared symmetrical from the outside but the interior was divided and subdivided into many rooms. Only the windows conformed to regularity. The entrance was deliberately exaggerated in both width and height but the impressive depth was an optical illusion. Heads turned to discern an optical illusion.
– I see no optical illusion, young man. Can you explain what you mean?
– Of course. When you know, you will admire the architects of the period even more. The ceiling descends towards the back of the hall and if you look at the columns on each side of the staircase, you can see that they become successively more slender as the staircase ascends. If you assume that the columns are the same width, the staircase appears to be much longer than it is. Similarly, the ceiling makes the hall appear much deeper than it actually is.
– How extraordinary! Is this a common feature in buildings of the period?
– Oh yes. Quite often. It’s something which is seldom mentioned, though. Perhaps they want to maintain the illusion. The biggest problem for the architects was how to deal with the chequerboard floor. This is carrara and marquina marble, brought at huge expense from Italy. You will see that it extends only as far as the staircase. After that, the flooring is wood but the illusion continues by staining it with a darker varnish towards the rear of the hall. If you’d like to follow me, we can take a closer look at this ingenious trick.
Taylor rocked across to one side of the staircase. Half of the visitors looked at the architecture, the rest at the artificial legs. The fact that they extended from a kilt emphasised their improbability. The visitors looked around them, enthusiastically pointing out to each other the very things Taylor had just explained. Taylor watched them, always conscious of maintaining his stance. Wearing the kilt was quite different from wearing trousers. It was heavier and it altered his centre of balance. He had no compunction about being seen to be an amputee. He had been legless since a road accident cost him his legs as a toddler. He adopted prostheses with the enthusiasm of a child with a new toy. He favoured the most basic of prostheses and displayed them at every opportunity, knowing well enough their shock value and their attraction for certain people whom he wished to know better. Some men were blessed with a magnetic attraction due to physical beauty. Taylor was blessed because of his physical disability and his victory over it.
– Shall we take a look at the next room? If you’d like to follow me…
Other visitors had come to view the grounds and the botanical garden. Robin and Manny were waiting for them, having left the house by the rear door at the same time that Taylor made his way to the entrance hall. It was a mild day, perhaps a little cool for short-sleeved shirts but the two students had received their altered shirts the previous evening and there was no choice. Robin looked fine in his Scottish outfit. His moustache was already the most prominent of the three peers. His whiskers were thick and black and the short moustache already looked much like many sported by young military men. His black artificial arms, disappearing up into his shirt sleeves, terminated in worker’s hooks, convoluted spiteful things in the eyes of casual viewers. Manny had chosen a pair of artificial hands which matched his pink sockets. He had elbows and was considerably more adept with his prostheses than Robin but had decided that his customers would not be as shocked if he wore his hands. They appeared normal enough until one noticed the unnatural way the thumbs pinched against the forefingers. Such an odd position in which to hold one’s hands. Manny could operate the hands with control cables which ran down his forearms and disappeared into the hands at the steel wrists. He hated the artificial hands with a passion but they looked almost normal and he did not anticipate needing the dexterity his hooks provided when he walked around the grounds with visitors.
The two guides welcomed the first visitors and split them into two groups. They would tour the grounds in opposite directions. Robin’s group set off first, directly to the botanical garden. He had locked his artificial elbows at about thirty degrees and flexed his shoulders to manipulate his arms. He pointed at various specialities, bending down to touch blossoms with a hook, or nipping a dead leaf. For many visitors, the sight of the tall dark and handsome kilted young man with two steel hooks was more intriguing than the plants.
– And next, we have two varieties of mimosa. The smaller plant is an endangered variety and we are fortunate to have suitable soil here for it to grow in. The larger variety is the type which makes mimosa a favourite of schoolchildren. Its leaves are sensitive to touch and close up.
Robin reached across carefully, shrugging his shoulder to release the elbow lock. He ran the tip of his hook along a leaf and the visitors peered closer to see the plant reacting to the provocation.
– Can you feel anything with that hook?
– No, nothing. It’s just a steel hook. Would you like to see it?
Robin lifted his forearm and allowed the young visitor to touch his worker’s hook. It felt cold and hard.
– I never realised that an amputee can’t feel anything. I always thought they could, somehow.
– No, it’s not possible. I haven’t felt anything since I lost my arms when I was four.
– Good grief! How did that happen?
– My step-father cut them off deliberately. He wanted me to beg on the streets and an armless boy would bring in quite a good amount.
– But that’s terrible! What happened to him?
– Well, he was arrested but committed suicide in prison. Hanged himself in his cell.
– And you were left like that. I am sorry.
– No need to be sorry. I’ve had artificial arms for twenty years and I’m quite happy with them. I don’t remember ever having my own arms. I only know the story because of what my mother told me. But she’s dead too. She overdosed on some drug. They were both addicts, you see.
– You’ve not had an easy life, have you?
– Well, I was put into foster care and grew up with a lovely family who treated me like their other children. And I was able to study at uni and got a place here with other amputees, so I don’t feel that I’m disadvantaged.
– There are other amputees here?
– Well, yes. It’s what Brunel Park is famous for.
– I didn’t notice anything special about your colleague, though.
– He’s wearing fake hands today. So as not to scare the visitors, he said. Take a look when we meet up with them again. Didn’t you notice anything odd when you bought your ticket?
– Oh, one of my friends went inside and bought them. I stayed outside.
– I see. Only the cashier uses a hook too, you see. And he has an artificial leg.
– So this is a place where the students are all amputees, is it?
– More or less. Now, we have to be getting on.
– Of course. Thank you for explaining.
The two groups met up outside the botanical gardens. Manny and Robin exchanged a few words and continued with their respective groups. Manny had avoided intrusive questions so far, although he had noticed several people staring at his hands rather than at the plants he was talking about. The hands were metal and were painted with a flesh‑coloured enamel paint. They were glossy and looked quite artificial after a brief inspection. Manny continued his route, the same which Robin had already come, until after another half hour, the tour was over and the two groups met up again outside the entrance to the manor house. Many of the visitors handed over banknotes as gratuities and watched, fascinated, as the amputee guides gratefully accepted the money into their steely hooks and hands.
So it continued throughout the day. They had a ten minute break to grab a sandwich around lunchtime, otherwise both students repeated their tour, learning what people were interested in from previous remarks and recognising how to encourage more tips by using their prostheses more often. Taylor had also learned to stand further away from his group as he explained the characteristics of the various styles of furniture and décor in the manor house’s rooms. It gave the group a better view of his pylons, which, even he would admit, looked shocking in combination with his kilt. Taylor explained several times how he had lost his legs under a lorry’s wheels when he was a toddler. One persistent visitor asked about the length of his stumps, which were a third the length of his natural thighs, but Taylor politely refused to answer, saying that he did not think it appropriate to talk about such intimate matters in public. Despite being rebuked, the visitor handed over a generous tip after the tour was over. Taylor slipped the money into his extravagant sporran, just as Robin and Manley had done.
At the end of the day, after the last visitors had thanked them and departed, they went upstairs to the common room by the canteen and totted up their unexpected takings.
– If this continues, we’ll be able to buy the place.
– I’m really surprised. I couldn’t believe it when I got the first tip. The guy wanted to watch me opening and closing my hooks, though. He was staring at them for most of the tour.
– I noticed the same thing. Several people were paying more attention to these hands than to the grounds.
– You ought to wear hooks tomorrow, Manny, and see if you get better tips.
– Yeah, I will. Right. I’m starving. Shall we get something to eat?
– Same here. Pull me up, someone.
Taylor took hold of Robin’s proffered hooks and rose to his feet. They went to the canteen and enjoyed the first hot meal of the day.
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The following morning, the three amputees were ready and waiting in the hall when the gates were opened. It was a dull morning threatening showers but some enthusiastic amateur botanists had made a seventy mile trip in a rental bus. Both Manley and Robin had their work cut out with talkative and inquisitive visitors who were delighted to see specimens of plants which they had not seen before. As on the previous day, several people were fascinated by the boys’ artificial arms. As Taylor had suggested, Manny had replaced his glossy metal hands with the two standard hooks which he usually used. He felt far more comfortable wearing them and used them more actively, pointing out various plants of interest, bending over to touch them and holding blooms toward the visitors for inspection. One young man stuck close to Manny. He was a handsome youngster, about twenty, with blond hair brushed up into a boyish quiff. Manny noticed he was wearing a pair of hearing aids and assumed that the chap was so close because he wanted to hear Manny’s narration clearly. At the end of the tour, as they were walking back to the manor house, the young man begged Manley’s pardon and asked if it might be possible to ask a few private questions about Brunel Park. Manny glanced at his watch and saw that they might have a few minutes before the next tour was scheduled.
– We could go into one of the rooms on the ground floor if you just want to ask a few questions. Would that be alright?
– Yes, thank you.
The two young men entered the hall and Manley gestured indecipherably to Darren. They turned left and passed through a reception room into a day room. Taylor was approaching slowly with his group of visitors and the boys stood aside as they departed.
– OK, I think this is good enough. No-one will hear us. What did you want to ask about?
– It’s difficult to say. I want to study here, you see. I’ve been following the news and one of my father’s friends used to study here years ago. He had deformed wrists and hands and they were amputated. Now he has artificial arms just like yours.
– I see. You know that all the students here are disabled, don’t you? Most of us are amputees too.
– Yes, I know. I want to be an amputee too, you see. I want to have hooks for hands.
– But there’s nothing wrong with your hands.
– No, I know. I just want to have hooks. I have wanted hooks for a long time. Ever since I saw my dad’s friend for the first time. He let me touch his hooks and ask about them. I was only little. I thought they were wonderful. He looked so special. He still does, I suppose. A handsome man.
– Why are you telling me this?
– He said that he had heard that there is some kind of a scheme to give students amputations so they can study here. He said I should ask about it. Is it true? Do you know anything about it?
– So you want to undergo two amputations of your arms in order to study here. Is that right?
– Yes.
– Are you on a biology course or something similar at uni?
– Yeah. I’m reading biology, botany and transitional agriculture.
– Quite a handful. Have you asked about transferring here?
– Yes. I was told that my subjects would allow me to study if not for the fact that able‑bodied students are not accepted at Brunel Park.
– Look, give me your contact details and I’ll make some enquiries. I can’t do more than that. I suggest you don’t speak of this to anyone else. If the authorities hear about you wanting amputations, they’ll section you and lock you away.
– No, I wouldn’t dream of it.
The boy’s amputations would cost him but Manley would get fifteen percent of the income for the recruitment. He spoke to the matron later that evening.
– He seemed genuine enough. He was interested in my arms but in a different way than most people. He didn’t ask how I work the hooks or any of the usual things strangers ask.
– Well, he certainly is on the right course for acceptance. His subjects entitle him to admission to Brunel Park. Give me his contact details. Hmm. Somerset Adams. An unusual name.
– An unusual man. I quite liked him. He’s deaf, by the way. Two hearing aids.
– Really? Interesting. Leave it with me, Manley. Thank you for bringing young Somerset to our attention.
– – – – – – -
Summer
After a week or so, the trio of amputees made it known that acting as tour guides was a more strenuous job than they had expected. They were all seniors and had more or less reached the apogee of their courses. Only the finals remained in mid-summer but they found themselves too distracted to concentrate on course work after several hours with visitors. Three more students were chosen to take their places for a few weeks. They would rotate, it was decided. Darren was quite happy to continue as cashier. He had his books with him and made good use of the quiet times between dealing with visitors.
Brunel Park Gardens gained popularity as word spread and the warming summer weather enticed daytrippers to spend a few hours touring a new venue. The stipend for Scottish attire had not been repeated so the other tour guides dressed smartly, some in shorts, some in short‑sleeved shirts, always ensuring that their prostheses were on full view. There were other young men who expressed admiration for the amputees and who whispered their own desires to lose limbs. They were interviewed briefly, just as Manley had interviewed Somerset, and the most apt candidates had their details passed forward along the system. Not all of the prospective voluntary amputees were even eligible to study at Brunel Park but that was not a primary concern. There was money to be made, commissions to be earned. A trickle of wannabe amputees made its way through the system and left a surgical facility in rural Yorkshire, disguised as a stone farmhouse, without the limbs the young men wished to be rid of. Prosthetic care was included in the price of the amputations. There was a choice of black, brown or pink for sockets, and the most basic of knees or elbow and wrist combinations. The exhilarated fresh amputees left swinging themselves on long wooden crutches or clicking their pristine steel hooks in excitement.
The academic year changed. The trio started their final year. Old friends had left, going to research laboratories or to industry, welcomed despite their disabilities because of the excellent repute of Brunel Park and its associated university. New students moved in, among them someone who immediately caught Manny’s eye one morning at breakfast. A blaze of blond hair caught the early sun and Manny recognised Somerset Adams. He left his table and walked over gripping a mug of coffee. As he reached Somerset’s table, he saw the transformation. Somerset was sporting two flesh‑coloured artificial arms with the same standard hooks he himself favoured.
– Hello Somerset! I didn’t know you would be joining us.
– It was very much a last minute decision by the university. I think I was given the place because another student had to drop out. I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name.
– Manley Harding. You can call me Manny. I see you have a pair of hooks. How are you finding them?
– When I put my stumps into the sockets every morning, it’s like I’m making myself whole, the way I was always meant to be. It gives me so much deep satisfaction. I don’t know really how to describe it.
– That’s good. And you’re learning to use them OK?
– Yes. I suppose I’m relearning muscle memory. The hooks don’t work like hands so my body needs to make different movements.
– Just so. It sounds like it’s something you expected.
– Yes, it is. I was excited to experience it for myself.
– What room are you in, by the way?
– Five A.
– Really? That’s just opposite my digs. Well, look. I have to get downstairs. The first visitors will be here soon. I’ll talk to you later.
– – – – – – -
Autumn
The autumn term began with the usual dedicated enthusiasm for new knowledge until places and people became familiar and the traditional flow of academia deflated into routine. The trio were well-practised in their spiels which evolved slowly in accordance with new growth in the gardens and with tactful explanations to over-inquisitive visitors about disability and artificial limbs. Occasionally someone would express envy, remarking that they too wished to brandish a pair of hooks or walk on narrow steel pylons and the amputees took them aside later to discuss the matter further. Three healthy young men had relinquished healthy limbs during the summer term, of whom one, Somerset, had actually appeared on campus.
Taylor had an interesting encounter with a teenager who was part of a school group which visited the manor house. The boy, uniquely among his classmates, wore a pair of shorts and displayed full‑length knee‑ankle‑foot orthotic leg braces. He heaved his legs along using elbow crutches and was completely captivated by Taylor’s slim leg prostheses. Taylor had learned to swing his hips while kicking his stumps in order to make the heavy kilt swing in a pleasing fashion. No visitor left one of his guided tours without admiring the bilateral amputee’s nonchalance and expertise in walking, to say nothing of his narration in his pleasing baritone voice issuing from beneath his anachronistic walrus moustache. Taylor was a stunningly impressive figure in his highland attire. Onlookers’ eyes twitched between looking at the unusual moustache and his even more unusual legs. Taylor noticed and adopted a patient accepting attitude as dozens of visitors sized him up every day. He exuded masculinity, some would say thwarted by disability, others would say enhanced. The boy in the leg braces, Jack White, burned with desire to look like Taylor, to sound like Taylor and to walk like Taylor. He had enough movement available at his hips to swing a pair of artificial legs even if they were simply attached to a torso socket. He had researched his options for several years and had always been rebuked by medical professionals who were of the opinion that he should be satisfied to have natural legs in braces instead of elective amputations. Jack White was of a different opinion. Seeing Taylor now striding along on his minimalist pylons almost drove him over the edge. He had imagined himself wear such legs before but had never seen anyone in real life who used them. Now there was a really good-looking guy in front of him who embodied all his greatest ideals and masculine fantasies. He had to talk to him.
– And so that ends our short tour. Thank you for your attention and if you have any questions, please feel free to ask.
Jack White rearranged his heavy steel braces and leaned into his crutches as the group made their slow way back to the entrance hall.
– Can I have a word with you in private? It’s a private matter, sort of.
– Yes, of course. Wait behind after the rest of the group has gone. I can spare a couple of minutes.
The group reached the hall and several people sought out Taylor to hand over a gratuity. He bid them a farewell and turned to Jack.
– Let’s go back to the sitting room. I can guess what you want to ask.
– Thank you for making time. I can see you’re busy.
– They can wait. They’re early. We have seven minutes. Now, about your legs.
– Yes, my legs. You see, we visited another place last month and there was a man working there who had an artificial leg like yours and we were talking. I said I’d rather have artificial legs than these braces and he said I should try to visit Brunel Park and talk to one of the amputee students. And this month, we came here so I thought I would ask you because you have exactly the kind of legs I want.
– I see. You’d prefer to be legless with prostheses or a wheelchair than use those kafos. I must say, they look very striking. It’s not often you see ones like yours. But you don’t like them, is that right?
– They’re so heavy. They make me more disabled. But my legs are pretty useless without them. I’d prefer it if I had short stumps and then I could walk on artificial legs instead or just take them off. Then my useless legs wouldn’t be in the way.
– Listen. I think your thigh stumps wouldn’t be strong enough to support you and let you control fake legs. You’d probably still rely on crutches after your amputations. Or you could have your legs disarticulated and use prostheses attached to a body socket.
– Yes, that’s one alternative I’ve thought about. Even so, I’d be able to scoot around without my legs in the way.
– It sounds like you have given this some thought. How old are you?
– I’m seventeen.
– You’re going to have to wait until next year before you can sign for anything like voluntary amputations but if you give me your contact details, I can forward your case for review. Are you studying botany?
– I’ve applied to study ecology and transitional agriculture.
– OK, good. That means you could have a place here as a legless student.
Jack White sent a short message with his particulars to Taylor’s phone and they made their way to the exit.
– Thank you very much for your help.
– Don’t mention it. I hope to see you again on new legs. Goodbye.
– – – – – – -
Taylor was grateful to see the final group of the day depart. Despite his robust good health and skill at walking on two prosthetic legs, it was physically tiring to stand for several hours. As he laboriously climbed the staircase to the private rooms on the first floor, he thought of Jack propped up on his steel braces and realised there was always someone worse off than yourself. Back in his room, he shucked his legs and took off his Highland attire. He changed into a hoodie and cut-off jeans, the ones with the legs sewn closed. He would spend the rest of the evening on the floor. He owned a pair of short stubbies but never wore them in public. They were in his closet at home, along with several pairs of artificial legs which he had worn through his childhood and teenage years. There was a quiet knock on his door. He swung his torso across the room and opened the door to allow his visitor to enter. Somerset slipped into the room, fell to his knees and wrapped his hooks around Taylor. They nuzzled each other’s faces and kissed through the great moustache.
Somerset had a room opposite Manny’s. They got on brilliantly well and frequently called on each other for assistance with something or other when two hooks were not enough. Somerset was eternally grateful to Manny for arranging his amputations and loved his rounded half forearms but there had never been a hint of sexuality between the two. The handsome blond looked angelic but had a strong sexual urge to dominate another male, preferable someone even more vulnerable than he was himself. Taylor had slowly revealed himself to be open for a relationship with the newcomer and they frequently spent the night together. Somerset arrived late, around midnight and left as early as possible. Homosexual relationships were nothing new in the all-male environment at Brunel Park but some degree of discretion was felt necessary. Somerset had taught Taylor how to copulate with his meagre thigh stumps and had introduced him to fisting. Somerset had no fists but Taylor’s arsehole was pliant and perfect. Over many weeks, Somerset taught Taylor to relax enough to accept Somerset’s arm stump into his rectum. Now it was their favourite sexual activity. Somerset found everything about Taylor to be sexually charged, from the thick whiskers covering his man’s mouth to the muscular arms built by using crutches for many years, down to the identical leg stumps which were almost useless. Only Taylor’s determination and remarkable sense of balance allowed him the opportunity of wearing his lightweight tubular legs. Now Somerset threaded his prostheses under Taylor’s armpits and lifted the torso onto the bed.
– Fuck me, will you? I’ve been gagging all day.
Taylor rose onto Somerset’s back and manipulated his cock until it was wet and slippery with precum. Somerset’s anus was pristine, inviting with the promise of ecstasy. Taylor flailed his stumps for balance as he guided his sturdy erection towards Somerset’s hole. Taylor watched it relax and guided himself inside, heaving his legless torso forward slightly to increase contact. By gyrating his pelvis, he was able to generate enough movement to excite his penis. His useless stumps twitched on Somerset’s thighs. Somerset was excited by their brevity and could feel the coarse hair against his skin until suddenly, unexpectedly, there was nothing. Nothing compared with being fucked by a double amputee. Somerset’s head turned from side to side while Taylor found his depth and pulsed against his prostate. Taylor’s amputations prevented him from gripping Somerset’s legs for better traction. He had only rhythmic movement available to him and eventually, it was enough. Somerset had already ejaculated a week’s worth of spunk into the bed covers and suddenly Taylor keened and gripped Somerset’s head while he pumped his load. He fell against Somerset’s back and they both lay panting and grinning. When his penis had softened slightly, Taylor allowed himself to slide off Somerset’s back to one side and they faced each other, kissing again. They held onto each other for many minutes until Somerset suggested a quick shower followed by supper.
– – – – – – -
Winter
Taylor’s recommendations to the authority responsible for elective amputations for Brunel Park candidates had been noted by the upper echelon. He was invited for a chat one Sunday morning.
– Good morning, Taylor. Do come in and make yourself comfortable. Coffee? Now you’re probably wondering what this is all about. I hope you haven’t been worrying yourself about this meeting.
– No, not exactly worried. Curious, I suppose.
– Yes, of course. Well, let’s not beat about the bush. We’ve been following you—I mean the students who interact with the visitors—since we opened to the public and we have been particularly impressed by the way you have handled the requests and enquiries from the public about elective amputations. It may interest you to know that the surgical team had a twenty-five percent increase over the past six months which we can trace back to your referrals. So in way of expressing our gratitude, we should like to offer you a permanent position here at Brunel Park as head of a new public relations department which we hope to launch next spring. This is your final year, is it not?
– It is. The finals are in January and February, so after that, I should be able to apply for employment.
– And it’s that employment which we are offering you now. We are quite certain that your qualifications will be more than adequate for what we have in mind. Quite simply, we want you to consider remaining here with us after you graduate. You could live in an apartment on the second floor, fifty square meters with two rooms and a kitchen, or of course, you could live in one of the association’s apartments in town if you prefer to travel back and forth each day. Completely up to you, of course. Well? What do you think?
– I don’t know what to think! I’m very surprised. And flattered. Thank you very much. Can I have some time to think about it?
– Oh, naturally. I believe if you accept, the Trust can offer a salary which you will find quite competitive and bear in mind that you already know the work and the routines which are so essential.
The discussion continued for another twenty minutes. Taylor learned that his disability had been a conspicuous attraction in itself. Several visitors had written to praise the ‘young Scot’ with artificial legs, mentioning that they had made return trips in order to see him again. He also heard that his most recent submission for revision, a Jack White, had been provisionally accepted for bilateral disarticulations, dependent on his final exam grades. Assuming all went according to plan, the young man would begin his studies at Brunel Park next autumn and it was hoped that Taylor would, as an almost legless man himself, take the young amputee under his wing. Taylor agreed that he bore some responsibility for the situation and said he would look out for White.
Taylor returned to his room with as much spring in his step as he could manage. To all practical purposes, he had been offered a permanent position regardless of the results of his finals and might be able to move into a small but comfortable flat in town. It was almost too good to be true. He glanced at his watch and decided to have some elevenses before the public began arriving at noon. First he changed from his cut-offs into his kilt and put the ornate frilled shirt on. Finally he swung the extravagant sporran around his waist and rocked across to appraise himself in a long mirror. Head of the Public Relations Department! He dropped his keys and wallet into his sporran and struck out for the canteen.
– – – – – – -
As the season approached its end, the type of visitor imperceptibly changed from enthusiastic gardener types to younger, more reticent visitors. It was fairly common knowledge by now, at least locally, that the guides at Brunel Park used hooks instead of hands and several groups of teenage boys turned up to see someone with hooks. Each and every one of them paid the tour fee, however, and were treated to a thorough explanatory narration about the plants they were seeing. Robin and Manley, or their stand-ins, both amputees, demonstrated the plants they were referring to by bending down or kneeling and holding a flower or leaves or other feature towards the visitors with a hook. The sniggering teenagers usually came for kicks at seeing the crips but one or two youngsters expressed admiration or desire for the artificial arms and steel hooks. Their names and contact details were forwarded and, over a period of several months, a few young adult males gained forearm stumps enabling them to use similar prosthetics. There was a gang of skinheads in one nearby town whose four alphas all sported at least one steel hook. New members were accepted into the gang with the proviso that they at least consider parting with a hand. For unemployed, uneducated youngsters who wanted to join an elite, it was an easy decision. A small team of skins learned how simple it was to disarticulate a hand from the wrist and the number of long arm stumps slowly increased. They were provided with artificial arms 3D-printed by one of the group, mere rigid sheaths featuring an immovable rigid hook. Jokes about pirates were rife until a tipping point was reached, when a majority of the skinheads bore spiteful prosthetic attachments which could be and were weaponised against opponents from other gangs. The commissions poured into the accounts of Brunel Park students. Each and every one of the amputees had a credible reason why they had lost their hands and since no complaint was ever made, there was nothing the police could do about the situation. One or two police officers were also envious of the skinheads bearing fearsome steel hooks.
The season ended and the students hunkered down to their studies. For Taylor, Robin and Manley, it was the last term. Lectures by visiting professors were attended by more students than usual, and their words heeded more closely. More attention was concentrated on effects of the changing climate on the biosphere. Agriculture was especially hard hit as it was reliant almost entirely on natural seasonal rhythms, far more so than the artificially nurtured plants at Brunel Park. Regardless of their physical disabilities, the students from Brunel Park could be assured of employment in biotech research or the biochemical industry.
– – – – – – -
Spring
Taylor signed several papers with the Brunel Park Foundation. They were now his employers and landlords. He had selected a sixty-five square meter flat on the third floor of an apartment block owned by Brunel Park. It was an experimental building which suited the ideology of Brunel Park. The plans had been bought from a Finnish company and the result was a low three storey building with central heating, balconies for every apartment, fully equipped electrically powered kitchens, and accessible bathrooms with heated towel rails and underfloor heating. There was space in the bathroom and plumbing connections for a washing machine. The low white building was equipped with two lifts, although this departed from the original Finnish design. Brunel Park had insisted that its disabled tenants be able to access their living spaces without unnecessary effort. Legless occupants like Taylor were able to reach the front door from the street and rise comfortably to their apartments effortlessly.
Taylor moved in at the end of February. Rob and Manny had already left Brunel Park. Both had found employment far away. Manley in a botanical research laboratory in Swansea and Robin closer to home in a medical research centre which was interested in botanical innovations. Suddenly there was a silence over Brunel Park. It happened every year but this was the first time that Taylor’s own peers gradually disappeared one by one. He felt trapped by the agreement he had signed in the autumn, agreeing to stay on as a permanent member of staff, although he recognised that it was probably the best thing which could have happened. During the last days before he moved to his new flat, Somerset tried to persuade him that things would turn out for the best.
– But you won’t be able to visit me like you do now.
– Think of it like this. I have to concentrate on my studies and I can spend the time I would have been with you studying. When I get through to next year, if I do, we can spend more time together if you want.
– I suppose you’re right. We could have weekends together.
It was very much what Somerset wanted. Every Friday evening, Somerset and Taylor caught the hourly bus into town to spend time together. Sometimes there was pizza, sometimes they ordered in a Chinese meal but always there was sex on Taylor’s low futon. Artificial limbs lay around the floor. Somerset worshipped Taylor’s short thigh stumps, caressing them with his own stumps. He squeezed Taylor’s penis between them, slipping in precum, never able to get a grip on Taylor’s cock, never able to hold it. Taylor watched Somerset’s stumps attempting what they would never do and felt his own sexual energy growing, concentrated by the brevity of his own stumps. A permanently erotic leglessness, all his stumps power concentrated in his groin. He spread his stumps wide and kneaded the bed with them. He tried encircling Somerset’s thighs with the legs he could feel, but he had nothing. He wanted to grip Somerset closer, to grind tighter. But he was legless and allowed his frustration to power his orgasm. Sperm shot against Somerset’s belly and legs. Taylor’s penis jerked while his stumps lay motionless, spread wide, vulnerable, perfect.
Somerset was happy enough to have brought Taylor to such a powerful end. They had the entire weekend for at least one more session when Taylor could fuck him. Somerset’s attempt at masturbation were mere exercises in frustration. His stumps were simply a little too short for him to be able to grasp his own cock between them firmly enough to wank with and he always gave up in frustration. He had tried wanking with his hooks but they felt cold and he had to concentrate too much on moving his prostheses. But it was undeniably fun to manipulate his erection between two steel hooks. The combination of flesh and steel was intensely erotic and as his frustration built, his desire for release with his man grew. Now, their session was over. Somerset used his stumps to spread Taylor’s big walrus moustache away from his lips and they finished the encounter by kissing.
Somerset showered first and waited while Taylor cleaned up. Taylor remained naked except for a hoodie but Somerset donned his prostheses, dressed in his street clothes and soon returned to Brunel Park. Students did not have leave to spend the night elsewhere. Curfew was at half past eleven. It was annoying but understandable enough. All the students were disabled and vulnerable. It was safest for everyone if there were daily checks that everyone was present and correct. Somerset prepared himself for bed and tried to wank himself to sleep.
– – – – – – –
Taylor received the results of his finals. He had passed all his courses with flying colours. The computer printout still had the file name printed along the top of the page. It was a disappointing certificate in that sense, not something anyone would wish to display. Nevertheless, it guaranteed Taylor employment at Brunel Park. That and his minimalist artificial legs, he thought. He imagined himself as he appeared to visitors. A tall man with an impressive walrus moustache, a Highland outfit with the furry sporran and two spindly steel legs. Did he really want to commute to and from Brunel Park like that? He had two alternatives. He could leave home wearing ordinary jeans and a hoodie and change at Brunel Park or get himself a little electric vehicle of some sort. Then he could wear whatever he wanted and no-one would have reason to comment.
Taylor looked around for a small electric vehicle. It had to be something with hand controls, some kind of joystick control. He found a Swiss trike with a Perspex bubble to protect the driver from the elements. It was light, fairly quick with good acceleration, and cost less than he expected. Best of all, he could pay for it in instalments. He placed an order and requested delivery to Brunel Park.
– – – – – – -
Summer
Mid-April and Brunel Park opened its doors to the general public again. Four second year students had volunteered and been selected as guides. They arranged to alternate every week. They were all leg amputees. A Somerset man, Derek, sported bilateral above-knee prosthetic legs complete with impressively realistic cosmeses. He favoured three quarter length cargo shorts, which hid most of his legs but his rollicking gait revealed his amputee status. He had been legless for coming on five years and was perfectly comfortable with his disability. The others had combinations of upper and lower limb prostheses which they too displayed publicly without embarrassment. Taylor was the only guide in Scottish attire. He thought about wearing trousers or shorts but enjoyed the astonishing contrast between his dashing kilt and sporran and the steel pylons.
He spent several evenings every month collaborating with the administration on publicity campaigns, new scripts and programs for the guides and more surreptitiously with the party responsible for elective amputations. By late May, one adult student, a tall muscular bearded blond, had already been directed along the route which would soon leave him without lower legs. Two teenage boys had asked Eric, one of the guides in the botanical gardens, how he had lost his left hand and were added to the growing list of under-age candidates for amputation. As the weather warmed, the gardens blossomed into a botanical utopia. The disabled guides were proud to display the grounds to fascinated visitors, who were interested to see both nature’s bounty and man’s prosthetic adaptations. Derek learned the error of his ways and ditched one of his cosmetic legs for a full‑length rigid peg leg which he brought in case his dodgy left prosthetic knee broke again. The huge black ferrule on the peg was almost obscene. Derek’s takings in the form of gratuities increased threefold after he adopted the peg leg and he began to enjoy its uncompromising rigidity. Soon he decided to wear it instead of his other prosthesis and strutted about the campus wearing what looked like a flesh leg and a peg.
Soon the school holidays started and more families with young children in tow arrived for an hour’s tour, a look inside the manor house and a nice cup of tea in the newly erected refreshments tent off to the side near the car park. Derek, Eric and the others never tired of questions from youngsters about their artificial limbs and the arm amputees explained over and over again how their hooks worked to wide-eyed children. Parents were occasionally apologetic for their offspring’s intrusiveness but all the guides reassured them that ‘if you never ask, you never learn’. It was a healthy response to inquisitive children who may never have realised that it was possible to have a limb chopped off. It also planted the seed of body dysmorphia which might grow strong and drive the youngster towards voluntary amputation a little later in life.
– – – – – – -
Taylor was struck by the vaguely familiar face of a new intake. The boy seemed to be strapped into his wheelchair. He wore shorts but they lay flat on his seat. He wheeled himself powerfully and skilfully around the canteen, fetching his food and drinks with confidence. Suddenly Taylor realised that it was the lad with leg braces who had asked him about losing his legs, Jack White! That was the name. He had obviously gone ahead and had his amputations. Taylor pushed himself up onto his legs and rocked over to join the boy.
– Hello! It’s Jack, isn’t it? I didn’t expect to see you here. You’ve just joined us, right?
– Yes, I have. I remember you. Thank you for helping me. As you can see, I got rid of my legs.
– Yes, I was going to ask. Do you need that strap?
–I do, actually. I asked for disarts. They didn’t want to do disarts. They said I’d be too disabled, having to rely on a wheelchair. They wanted me to keep some stump so I could at least wear cosmetic legs. But I kept at it and insisted I wanted a torso stump so in the end, that’s what I got. And six weeks later, I was out of there in a wheelchair and since then I’ve had my shoes made, so I can scoot around wherever I want.
– What do you mean, shoes?
– That’s what I call my sockets. I have a a stiff silicon thing and then I wear this leather and rubber shoe over it. I can throw my torso forward between my arms, if I want to walk. Or if I’m just at home, the silicon shoe is enough. It keeps me upright on a chair when I’m studying, for example.
– Well, that sounds remarkable. And you’re happy to be completely legless, are you?
– Oh, you can’t imagine. This is so much better than lugging those leg braces around. I should have done this years ago. And now my torso stump has healed, it feels really good not to have leg stumps. I am me still but without the useless legs.
– You seem to have acclimatised very well in the time you’ve been legless.
– But I always thought of myself as legless. It’s just that now, I don’t need to crutch around carrying the weight of my useless legs.
Taylor found Jack to be a fascinating conversationalist. He had insights into disability which Taylor had never considered before and Jack was the first person he had ever met whose body terminated in a rounded stump. He was intrigued by the boy.
– Listen, how would you like to visit my place this evening? I can take you there and bring you back, so don’t worry about that. There are things I want to ask you about your amputations.
– Oh, well I suppose I could. I only have a couple of things to read before the end of the week so I don’t suppose an evening off will matter. Alright. Let’s go!
– Good. I’ll come and pick you up from here, so don’t go anywhere.
Jack watched as Taylor pushed himself up and arranged his artificial legs under him. Taylor kicked his left prosthesis and rocked out of the canteen. He pulled himself up to the second floor lobby, where he recharged his trike’s battery. It had charged for eight hours, so it should last for at least a fortnight. He took the battery down two broad flights of stairs, one steel pylon at a time, to his trike and returned to the canteen. Jack had finished his meal and returned the dirty dishes. He sat off to one side, reading something on his phone.
– OK, all set and ready. Are you going to use your wheelchair?
– No, I don’t think so. You don’t mind if I walk on my shoe, do you?
It sounded slightly ridiculous, but looking at the boy with his rubbery rounded torso peeking out from under his T-shirt, Taylor understood.
– Not at all. Just make yourself comfortable.
– I’ll get my jacket. Will you wait here for a moment?
Jack leaned into propelling his chair straight and true towards the corridor along which his room was. His wheelchair disappeared from view and shortly, Jack reappeared wearing a hoody and a pair of black boxing gloves. His rubber shoe swung along at a regular pace and, without stopping, Jack launched his stump down the stairs with Taylor trying to keep up. One pylon at a time. One step down, bring the other pylon alongside. Next step down, pylon alongside. Jack spun himself around at the bottom to watch his mentor operating his steel legs. His erection strengthened. His silicon sheath with the squared-off base disguised his genitals. He had enjoyed several erections during the day watching his fellow students in class. His cock and balls were swimming in precum and now, seeing his idol struggling, he was about to scream in frustration. Taylor’s feet reached the bottom step and they wordlessly exited.
– Do you always wear those gloves, Jack? Aren’t there more practical gloves you could wear?
– I suppose there might be but these are roomy enough to pull off when I need to use my hands. You can imagine what this gravel might feel like on my hands.
– Very true. I must say, you seem to have acclimatised yourself to walking on your hands very well. You have a good rhythm.
– It’s what I always thought about when I had my leg braces. How easy it would be to just swing along wearing a shoe. And it’s true. It’s easy and I like it. My stump likes it too. It feels good to pound it against the ground. It makes my cock and balls jiggle about.
Taylor was surprised at the sudden sexual nature of the boy’s remarks, although he was nursing an erection because of the prospect of seeing the naked stump a little later.
– Here’s my car. If you climb in first, get behind my seat facing backwards. There should be enough room there.
Jack swung his stump into the trike and wriggled into position. Taylor held on to the frame, swung himself onto the seat and pulled his pylons in with one hand.
– Hold tight! Off we go.
The electric motor hummed into life and the tiny car with its bubble top described a tight circle in the car park. Then the surface became more even and Taylor increased the speed. Jack lifted himself slightly to position his shoe better. He could see out the back of the bubble and took note of the route. Taylor pulled into the parking area behind the block of flats and shut off the power. The car’s door sprang open and the two legless men made their exit. Jack sat on his shoe, looking up at Taylor with a grin. It would be the first time he had been with a man after his amputations and he intended to take the best advantage. Taylor showed the way inside and they rose three floors to Taylor’s apartment.
– Oh, this is beautiful! And everything is low down.
– I like to get around without my legs. That’s why. Go into the living room and make yourself comfortable. I’m going to take my legs off and join you in a moment. Would you like something to drink, by the way?
– Cola, if you have it.
– Sorry, no cola here. You can have a beer or there’s some gin and vodka. How about a gin and lemon?
Jack was unused to alcohol but agreed that a gin and lemon would be nice.
– Coming right up.
Taylor doffed his legs and rubbed his stumps. They were damp with sweat and needed washing but he struggled into a pair of black football shorts and heaved himself back to the living room to join Jack. They sat facing each other, both of them appraising the others amputations, both of them thinking about what it would be like to fuck the other. Or be fucked by. Jack heaved himself across to the window, his rubber shoe squeaking on the polished floor.
– It’s nice to be so high up. You can see Brunel Park from here.
– It’s on the hill so you can see it from most places around here. If I had a flat on the other side of the building, you could see the river, which I think would be nicer.
– But it looks like a nice place to live. I only have the one little room. I suppose it’s alright really, but I’m not used to having to study and sleep in the same room. I need a bit of space to walk, you see. It’s difficult to squeeze in between a cupboard and my bed, or whatever.
– Yeah, I can see the problem. I want to ask you about your amputations. They went though without any problems, right?
– Well, there was a lot of talk about the advantages of retaining some measure of femur. That’s what they said. And then someone brought up phantom pain and someone else said it could be controlled. Someone else said why not give me what I was asking for and supply a prosthesis, and in the end, that’s the decision they came to and they disarticulated my legs completely. And here I am, a legless stump in my silicon and leather and rubber.
– You sound pleased about it.
– Do you know how difficult it was to live with the two kafos? Having to drag them everywhere, how heavy they were? This is much better. I can get around fine like this in my shoe or I can be in a wheelchair and go a bit faster, as long as places are accessible.
Taylor looked at Jack’s earnest face. Such a young person to take such a huge decision regarding the way he would live the rest of his life. He was impressed and found the decision admirable. He looked down at his own stumps and realised that he was in a similar position. He had no need of a torso socket, although he could have one made if he wanted. Something like a legless skier’s monocoque. Not needing crutches and being able to move freely must feel like a breath of fresh air to the legless boy.
– Tell me more about your shoe. Did you design it yourself?
– Well, I explained what I needed. We did a few drawings. Here, let me show you.
Taylor sipped his drink while Jack balanced carefully and pulled his T-shirt off. The leather and rubber shoe extended as far as his chest. The expanse of black leather looked exciting, erotic. It was held closed with three broad leather straps around his midriff. The lower part was covered in a thick rubber pad with a shallow tread. It was reasonably waterproof.
– You see? This is my prosthesis. My stump sheath.
– It looks very impressive. Is it comfortable to wear?
– Yes, it’s fine. I have another one underneath it, though. Would you like to see it?
– Yes, I would. Do you need any help?
– Not really but you can take it off if you want.
Jack lowered himself to lie on his back. Taylor handwalked closer to him and inspected the closures on the straps. They were simple enough. He undid them from top to bottom and loosened the leather shoe.
– Just hold onto the rubber base and pull and it’ll come away.
Taylor set the prosthesis to one side and looked at Jack’s inner prosthesis. It was thick white silicon with a large nylon zipper. It also reached to just under Jack’s chest. There was a flap in front of his genitals. The base was thickened and tapered slightly. Its base was flat, allowing Jack to sit on it securely.
– I think of this one as my underwear. I should wear a body stocking too but I like the way the silicon feels around my belly. Would you like to take this one off, too? But if you do, I’ll have to lie down on the sofa or somewhere. I can’t sit on my stump for more than a few seconds. I’m disabled, you see.
Jack caught Taylor’s eye and they chuckled.
– I guess you are.
Taylor placed his hand on the warm silicon over Jack’s belly and gripped the zipper’s tab. It was a little stiff but opened smoothly down to the top of Jack’s groin. His genitals were still covered.
– It’s alright. You can pull it off.
– Can you lift yourself a little?
Taylor pulled on the silicon. It was stuck to Jack’s skin in places but soon it was in Taylor’s hands. Jack’s erection caught Taylor’s attention. It was an impressive tool, glistening with precum. His pubic hair was wet.
– Does it turn you on to wear this?
– Yeah. I like the way it feels around my cock and balls.
– You have quite an erection there.
– It’s because you turn me on. I want to fuck you.
– Wow! You don’t waste time, do you? You realise that you’re going to need some help with that, don’t you?
– I know. I want you to have me in bed. You can fuck me if you want.
Taylor had already considered it. He could remember his first conversation with Jack and being impressed by the boy’s beauty. When he spoke of becoming a body stump, Taylor imagined what it would feel like to make love with a man completely without legs, without stumps, only a frantically insistent penis below his belly, desperate for help to shaft another. Taylor had fantasised about such a lover over the intervening months. Now there was the opportunity with the same boy. He looked angelic but obviously had a devilish libido.
– I do want but not now. I said I’d take you back to Brunel Park, didn’t I? We don’t have time to play around tonight.
Taylor saw Jack’s disappointment. The handsome face and the reclining body, propped up on his strong arms. The shocking absence of legs and the straining cock.
– Let me put your shirt back on. Drink your drink. And after that, we’re going in the shower. We can wash your silicon underwear as well.
– Alright. It needs a wash. Can you lift me onto the sofa?
Taylor could not, but he was able to push the boy up. The torso supported himself on his hands. Taylor joined him and Jack fell against him.
– I wish we could be together. We have so much in common, don’t you think?
– Jack, we hardly know each other. We’re both legless, if that’s what you mean.
– But I’m falling in love with you. I want to be with you.
– Give it time, Jack. Don’t rush me.
All the same, Taylor was already considering what life would be like if he invited Jack to share his flat with him. They both had a lot of the same needs and Jack had already mentioned the unsuitability of his present accommodation. He would have to think about it.
Jack carefully guided his stump into the bathroom, his penis erect in front of him, and waited for Taylor to help him into the shower. Taylor threw the silicon sheath in front of him. The men giggled as they washed each other, Jack propped against the corner, balancing. They inspected each others cocks, making sure the foreskins were clean. It was fun. Jack used a sponge to clean dried cum from his silicon. They dried themselves and Jack dabbed his silicon dry.
– Hold it for me while I put it on, will you?
Shortly, Jack was able to sit up independently. The pair left the wet bathroom and handwalked back to the living room, where Jack inserted his stump into the leather shoe. This is what it would be like if they lived together, thought Taylor. The boy was severely disabled and would always need some kind of assistance. But if they loved each other, why would it matter? Jack was confident, independent, daring, sexy and wanted to make love to him.
They spent much of the evening discussing their experiences with leg braces and artificial legs. Taylor described various leg adaptations he had seen used for torso men and how they could get about swinging the fake legs along with crutches. Jack was interested but reluctant to revert to using crutches. As the time neared eleven, Taylor insisted Jack should get back to his digs. They returned to the trike, feeling much more relaxed and more like companions than when they had arrived. Taylor drove Jack to the main entrance and watched a security guard open the door for him. The torso man disappeared into the building and Taylor twitched his trike’s joystick, jerking it into motion. Half an hour later he was in bed, toying with his erect penis, imagining himself making love to Jack’s torso.
– – – – – – –
They saw little of each other during the week. Taylor sported his Highland regalia and escorted bemused visitors through the opulent interior of Brunel Park manor. Jack was confined to the third floor lecture rooms and the library. Jack’s stump was a continual turn-on for him. He learned an inconspicuous way to gyrate his lower body so his penis would chafe against the silicon sheath. His shoe disguised the movement even more. It was entertaining to study botany while simultaneously fucking a prosthesis. Jack relaxed all his weight into it and strained against the silicon. Just before lunchtime, he ejaculated for several seconds and felt the warm fluid lubricating his stump. It was heaven on earth. The ultimate stump, for life.
By the end of the week, Taylor had made his mind up. It was worth a trial. Jack could keep his room but Taylor would inform admin that the boy would be living in his apartment because the two of them were so similarly disabled that it would be better for the boy to have access to living conditions which his particular extreme disability demanded. The administrators were immediately understanding and agreed that Jack’s residency could be temporarily transferred to Taylor’s address. Taylor waited until closing time on Friday evening before climbing up to the first floor and Jack’s room.
– OK, get your stuff together for a weekend. You’re coming home with me. I’ll bring you back on Monday morning to collect the rest of your stuff.
– What are you talking about?
– You’re moving in with me. I've decided—only for a trial period—that you can move into my place. How do you like that?
– Really? That’s fantastic!
– Just grab your books and a couple of T-shirts. That’s all you need.
Jack’s face broadened into a grin. He collected his notes and a couple of text books from the floor and two clean white T-shirts from a dresser drawer. He dropped them into a small back pack, without which he rarely ventured anywhere and slung it over his shoulders. He reached up to set the lock and put his boxing gloves on at the door.
– Ready!
– That didn’t take long. Come on, then. Let’s go.
Once again, Jack reached the ground floor first and watched Taylor’s laboured progress from step to step. He looked great in his kilt and Jack wondered if it might be an idea to get one for himself. He could wear it when he was in his wheelchair. Which reminded him…
– Are we going to go out, Taylor? Should I bring my wheelchair?
– No, you won’t need it this weekend but we can bring it if you want to.
– No, let’s do it Monday.
– Good show.
Taylor let the guard know that Jack would not be returning before Monday. The guard raised his eyebrows, causing Taylor to smirk. The guard smiled and nodded. He would quite like a dirty weekend with the legless bloke himself some time. He watched the two cripples leave the building and soon heard the crunch of gravel as the electric trike sped away.
Taylor had a plan in mind. He would play host to Jack for the entire weekend, providing meals and extending hospitality in general, but he would not give Jack any assistance unless asked. He wanted to see how well the torso fared in daily life. How Jack managed personal hygiene, for example. He wanted to gain an insight into Jack’s life and his prospects. How might they cope on a journey together? Taylor already knew that Jack was far more agile on stairs than he was himself. That was one advantage of Jack’s shoe. Might there be others? Perhaps the weekend would reveal some.
Jack was chatty on the way to Taylor’s flat. It was odd conversing with a voice coming from behind him and distorted by the curved Perspex roof. Jack was curious to know why Taylor always wore full‑length prostheses or nothing. Why did he not wear stubbies at home? Had he ever worn stubbies? What other legs had he worn? Taylor gave up trying to answer the quick-fire questions and said he would show Jack some photos of himself growing up. He could see for himself. The vacuum cleaner robot trundled towards him and Taylor pressed a button on its control panel. The device changed direction and returned to its dock.
– That’s a very useful thing to have when we are on the floor so much.
– Quite right. Do you want to see my photos? Shall we go and watch them on tv?
– That would be great.
– Go and sit on the sofa. I’ll be with you in a minute.
Jack swung away. Taylor took two glasses and made two gin and tonics. It might help Jack relax a little and why not himself too. He rocked into the lounge and saw Jack struggling to remove his shoe.
– I thought I’d better take this off. The bottom is a bit dirty and I don’t want to mess up the sofa. I hope you don’t mind if I sit in my underwear.
– No, I don’t mind at all. Jack, when you’re here, you can wear as much or as little as you want. I want you to be warm and comfortable. I don’t mind seeing your silicon.
– Good. I’ll leave the shoe off.
– Yeah. You won’t need it unless we go out somewhere tomorrow.
– Oh! Are we going out?
– I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. Here you are. Your favourite. Cheers, Jack. Welcome to your new home.
Taylor unwrapped his kilt and took his legs off, joining Jack on the floor. Jack leaned forward as much as he dared but could not quite reach his glass. He looked at Taylor, expecting help, but Taylor patiently waited for Jack to change his position so he could reach it. He moved the glass closer to the edge of the table and lifted himself back against the sofa. Now he could lean and reach the glass without falling on his face. He lifted his drink and they skålled.
Taylor delved deep into his photo archive and activated his phone’s data connection. The tv flickered on and the folder name appeared on-screen. Moments later, the photos began appearing at seven second intervals. There was Taylor as a baby and as a toddler, taking his first steps, lifted into the air by his mum and dad, riding a red and yellow tricycle. Then in a bed with bandaged thighs next to his mother who tried to put on a brave face between the tears. In a wheelchair, with bare stumps on a lawn, with odd plaster of Paris stubbies and tiny crutches for toddlers, kicking a ball with his father, walking on his plaster stubbies, blowing out a fourth birthday cake’s candles with his first pink prosthetic legs, laughing, happy. His mother looked less haggard, proud of her son. With a group of children and a teacher, holding hands with other children as they danced in a ring, then a gap of a few years. Taylor as a teenager in cricket kit, on a tennis court with his cosmetic prostheses on display, a series of photos taken by one of his friends at a fairground, another series in a hamburger joint, more with him showing off his fake legs to people in a pub, a glass of beer in one hand. Finally, photos of four friends hiking in Salzburg, Austria, with Taylor in shorts, using Nordic walking poles.
– And that’s all I am going to show you. I have other photos too, don’t worry.
– Porno?
– What do you think?
– Porno.
– Haha! You’re right but I’m not going to show you. Not now, anyway. So did you see me using stubbies at any time? No you did not. I was brought up to rely on my long legs. My parents were sympathetic but they insisted I adapt to life on prostheses to look as normal as possible. They thought it was the most important thing. I mean, strangers could see I limped but they didn’t guess I was legless.
– Not like me. Strangers can see I am very legless.
Jack put his hands under his silicon and squeezed his stump. It was a strangely suggestive gesture. The silicon sheath had a smooth translucent surface reminiscent of skin. Its colour was alien and its shape.
– What does that feel like, Jack?
– It’s like I am sitting on my hands, you know, under my bum. A lot of my arse cheeks got pulled down to use under the stump. I don’t really have an arse any more.
– You don’t mind, do you?
– No! Of course not. If I still had an arse, I wouldn’t have my stump.
– It’s important to you, isn’t it? You really like the way your body is now.
– This is perfect. I love being extremely disabled. That’s the way my doctor described me when he thought I couldn’t hear him talking to my parents. ‘He will never walk again but we can help him be mobile. However, he is extremely disabled’.
– It looks to me like you can walk well enough. You don’t do it like other men but you get around.
– All on my stump. Will you fuck me tonight, Taylor, please? I am getting desperate.
– Wow! That was a quick change of subject! I don’t know. I was hoping you would fuck me.
– Oh! That would be even better!
Jack lifted the flap over his genitals and reached in to rearrange his penis. As usual, it was slimy with precum. He rubbed his hand on his T-shirt and reached across for his G&T.
– I wank almost every night but I miss the action. You know? Pounding your body against someone else. Wanking is just lying there.
– I know. Let’s change the subject.
Taylor asked Jack about the work he had brought with him. Jack had an essay to prepare for Tuesday and he had better get some studying done. Taylor decided to let Jack do what he wanted on Saturday, including study, but Sunday would be devoted to study until the essay was written.
Taylor produced some home-made food which he heated in the microwave. They ate on the sofa watching several videos of a Brazilian bilateral disart like Jack. The man had been fitted with a variety of rigid torso sockets which he used with short crutches and several versions of a socket with one or two artificial legs of differing lengths. Jack was still adamant that he preferred not to use crutches but Taylor was hatching an idea which would allow Jack to be taller on short crutches and which he found very horny. It might take some time but Taylor sought through hundreds of century old photographs for examples of what he wanted Jack to use. He copied them to his phone for future reference.
The rest of the evening passed much as the first evening together. They asked about each other’s old schools and friends and the ways people reacted to their disabilities. Jack had worn steel kafos since he was a toddler too. He had a syndrome which prevented joints in his lower limbs from developing properly. His knees and ankles were loose and painful so his legs were encased in bracing to prevent their movement. His legs never developed musculature and were incapable of bearing his weight. Despite that, he was never teased at school nor bullied. He was a popular member of his class with a quick wit and a good sense of humour. He let everyone try out his crutches if they wanted and a couple of times, he even let his friends try on his leg braces to see what they were like to wear. His classmates accepted him braces and all and liked him even though he was useless at footer and he was always included in his circle of friends. But he hated dragging his legs around and wanted to be free of them, not wanting healthy legs but to be legless, rid of his useless legs completely. Taylor listened to his story, understanding, sympathising, approving. The legless young man encased in silicon sitting next to him and leaning against his chest was the culmination of all the effort and suffering. He would get a good fucking that evening if he wanted.
They decided to shower in the morning. They brushed their teeth and crawled naked onto Taylor’s futon. Taylor let Jack take the initiative. They played with each other’s tits and nuzzled reassuringly for a few minutes before Jack decided that Taylor was letting him take control of the situation.
– I want to fuck you.
– Alright.
Taylor was still lying on his back.
– Can you turn over?
– Pull me over, Jack. I don’t know how you want me.
Jack’s strong, firm hands suddenly gripped Taylor’s hips and pulled. Taylor had no choice but to grip his bed and twist his stumps around.
– Lie on your stomach, Taylor. Don’t make this difficult.
It was a surprisingly assertive command from the younger man.
– I’m going to fuck you, Taylor. I know it’s what you want. That’s why you brought me here.
Taylor was amazed. Jack’s voice was louder and more commanding than necessary. It sounded like he was very much the subservient partner. Intrigued but knowing he was the stronger partner, he turned onto his belly and pushed himself up with his stumps to straighten his penis. Jack gripped his shoulders and raised his stump as far as he could in an attempt to mount Taylor. He failed on his first attempt and reached down to reposition his cock. He pushed himself down the bed and tried again to force his stump up onto Taylor. This time, his stump landed between Taylor’s leg stumps and nestled there. With a deep sigh, Jack gripped Taylor’s shoulders again and pulled his torso up so his cock coincided with Taylor’s butt cheeks. Taylor felt the weight of his lover against his back but nothing else. He had always liked the way his partner’s legs wrestled with his stumps. Now there was nothing except an insistent penis, slipping around trying to find the entrance to his body. Jack grunted with the effort. He was in the right spot and reached down to guide the tip of his penis to Taylor’s anus. Almost against his better judgment, Taylor pushed his arse higher and relaxed his hole. Jack’s cock found what it needed and he rippled his body, hoping the movement would press his cock into Taylor and not move it away. He pulled toward Taylor’s shoulders again, straining to get his penis inside. It worked and Jack worked his stump from side to side, all the while pulling against Taylor’s shoulders and forcing his penis inside. Jack howled in victory. It felt like his entire body was a huge penis. He pulsed against Taylor’s short thighs, the age-old movements of human copulation instinctive but denied. He was a mere torso with a penis. His torso raged with need. He arched his back, pulled tighter against Taylor. He linked his arms around Taylor’s neck and gripped tightly. It was better. He slapped his torso against Taylor’s buttocks, finding the rhythm, building the rhythm. Taylor grunted as Jack’s glans poked his prostate again and again. The torso squirmed to improve his position, finding more friction, more depth. Jack keened with fulfilment and he slumped against Taylor’s back as his stump emptied itself of ejaculate. Jack was motionless for several seconds and then kissed Taylor’s throat. It was easy for him to fall away, landing back on the futon trailing sperm across Taylor’s left stump. Taylor put his arm around Jack’s neck and pulled him closer. Jack slept on Taylor’s muscular arm until morning.
Next morning, after breakfast, they showered together. Taylor left Jack in the bathroom. He should be able to manage his business and clean himself. Taylor did not ask if help was needed. He fed his artificial legs into a pair of denims and found a clean T-shirt. He pushed himself erect and tidied the lounge of discarded clothes. He wanted to do some laundry and after coffee, he would make a shepherd’s pie or something similar. If there was time in the afternoon, they could either go out for a ride in the trike or they could discuss Taylor’s idea to let Jack stand taller.
Jack took quite a while in the bathroom after his shower. It was something to bear in mind if they lived together—get in the bathroom before Jack. Jack appeared wearing his silicon and struggled into a shirt. He found his shoe where Taylor had left it in the lounge and took it to the bathroom to clean its rubber base. Back in the lounge, he worked his stump into it, fastened the belts and pushed himself upright. He was dressed, ready for the day.
– Are we going out, Taylor? I thought I’d start my essay if we have a couple of hours.
– Go right ahead. I thought we could go somewhere this afternoon if it stays nice out. I have some housework to do.
– Oh, alright. Can I use the lounge table?
– Sure. Go ahead.
Jack put his back pack on and lifted himself onto a chair. Taylor watched his considerable effort, finding a secure handhold, being careful not to topple. The shoe sat squarely on the seat and Jack set his papers and a text book in front of him. He gripped the edge of the table and carefully twisted the chair under his shoe moving it closer to the table. Taylor was impressed. Suddenly Jack looked like any other student. Taylor went about his chores and left Jack in peace.
Taylor spent the time waiting for the wash cycle to finish by making room for Jack’s clothes. He made sure there was room for a couple of jackets and he moved his own clothes out of the two bottom–most drawers in his dresser. He was unsure how much and what kind of accessories Jack needed—salves, unguents, cleaning agents, lubricants. They would find room for them all. Taylor was clear in his mind that he wanted a relationship with Jack, to have him close, to watch him grow into a man from the boy he still was. Boy or not, he was not only sexually mature but also skilful and thoughtful. Regardless of how passionate he had been the previous evening, he had been considerate of Taylor’s feelings. Taylor wanted more, and if he was honest with himself, he wanted to fuck the torso. The stump. He wanted to fuck a stump. He reached into his jeans to rearrange his erection and rocked quietly over to the table where Jack was drawing a molecular diagram.
– Are you ready to take a break? Do you want coffee?
– Oh! Yes please. Let me just finish this and I’ll join you in the kitchen.
– I could bring it in here.
– No need. I want to move. I’ll be there in a minute.
Taylor brewed enough espresso for four small cups while Jack completed his diagram, according to which, increased carbon dioxide would first boost plant growth by four percent and then decrease nutrients in food crops by six percent per tenth of a degree increase. Plants grew faster than their structure could absorb minerals from the soil. Like humans with too much nutrients, crops would grow bigger but it would not be a pretty sight. The crops were useless. Jack threw his pen onto the table and gripped the edge of the table, rolling his stump off the chair onto the floor. He handwalked into the kitchen, filled with the aroma of fresh coffee and looked up at Taylor busying himself with tiny cups and saucers.
– Are you going to sit at the table?
– Yes, I thought so.
– OK.
Jack repeated his former actions. He reached up and lifted his stump onto a chair. Jack was still too new of an amputee to move fluidly but he was shortly balancing on a kitchen chair, elbows on the table, watching Taylor complete his task. Black coffee poured into his thick espresso cup and he reached across to take a lump of brown sugar.
– How’s it going?
– The essay, you mean? Great! I still need to write the synopsis but the essay is done.
– Take a break from it, then. Let it sink in for a while and the synopsis will probably turn out better.
– Yeah, I know what you mean. OK, I’ll leave the rest until tomorrow or Monday. What are we going to do for the rest of the time?
– I thought we could go out for a drive, if you like. We could take some sandwiches and a flask of tea or something and find somewhere for a picnic.
– That sounds like old-fashioned fun. I haven’t been on a picnic since I was little. OK. Let’s do that.
– There’s some lunch in the oven. We’ll have that first and then get ready. I thought we could go to Weston Park down by the river. Watch the boats. That sort of thing.
Jack was not interested in boating but it did sound fun. They would be together in the open air, enjoying the sunshine. Jack had some questions for Taylor which kept recurring.
– – – – – – -
Taylor made some cheese and tomato sandwiches and found two bottles of mineral water. They went into Jack’s backpack. They both put long-sleeved hoodies on for skin protection. Jack donned his boxing gloves and they made their way to the trike. It was designed and intended for one-person operation. There was no space for a passenger but there was enough room for a couple of bags of groceries behind the driver’s seat. It was enough for Jack’s torso. He faced backwards, seeing the route they had come. His face was on full view and, not wanting eye contact with strangers, he put on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Taylor had enough room in the front for his prosthetic legs. The floor space was free of pedals and levers. Taylor closed the Perspex bubble and the trike hummed into motion. Weston Park was to the north of town, a former private hunting ground for nobility, later a venerated site with war memorials. Now it was a well-tended copse with grassland next to the river, far enough from town not to be plagued with social problems. Taylor drove the trike across the grass and down a gentle slope towards the water. He would have preferred to sit in the trike with the top open but he should let Jack have his freedom. He twisted in his seat, pushed his feet outside and succeeded in standing. He rocked back and forth to find his balance on the uneven ground and stood back to allow Jack to move his stump.
– Shall we sit by the water? Maybe the ducks will come over for some of our sannies.
– Alright.
Jack swung himself toward the river. Taylor closed the bubble but left the door open.
– Is this a good spot?
– It’s fine.
Taylor carefully lowered himself to the ground and released the valves on his sockets. He pulled his legs and liners off and lay them parallel beside him.
– You don’t take your legs off very often, do you? They’re not hurting, are they?
– No, nothing like that. I thought it might be nice to have my stumps free.
– They’re pretty short, aren’t they? Do you wish you had longer stumps?
– Not really. It’s not something that could ever be possible so I don’t think about things like that. I can walk on long legs well enough but of course stairs and the like are problems because I have so little muscle power to climb steps.
– And you never use a walking stick or crutches, do you?
– I have lots of crutches and sticks at home but I don’t want to rely on a stick. I’m still young—I’m only twenty-three—so I don’t want to appear too disabled.
– You appear pretty disabled when you wear your kilt.
– Haha! Yeah, I suppose I do. I don’t care if people see my legs, as long as I can use them independent of support.
– Your stumps are so short you could wear a torso socket like mine. Just slip your stumps into them and swing yourself along like that.
– I can already handwalk on these stumps, though.
– Yeah but it would look cool if we were both in torso sockets.
– It’s true. We would. If I’m honest, I have thought about having a monocoque made but they’re expensive. I’ve also been thinking about having one made for you, too. I was looking for old photos of legless men who chose to use something to make themselves taller. I found about a dozen. I’ll show you when we get back.
– What sort of thing did you have in mind?
– Well, your present socket is flexible. A monocoque is rigid and probably comes up to your armpits. And your socket is only a bit longer than your stump. Imagine if it extended down past your stump for thirty or forty centimetres. It would taper down to a single foot of some kind you could balance on and you could use shortened crutches to swing yourself along.
– I hate using crutches but that sounds quite interesting. A very long torso socket, rigid from the floor up to my armpits. That sounds quite sexy! There’d have to be a hole in the front to pee out of.
– Yeah, there would be.
– If I had one made, would you have one, too? You could have one which covers your stumps so you’d walk the same as me, swinging your body stump and using crutches.
Taylor tilted his head back and looked up at some cirrus clouds. They were high, so far away, ephemeral, unreachable. He tried to imagine himself encased almost completely in a torso socket like Jack, the pair of them sporting roughly the same equipment. It would be as if Jack had stumps again, or as if he himself had none. They would be equals. Taylor had always envisaged what he called a monocoque. He imagined himself seated with his stumps together in front of him, pointing up slightly and covered with glass fibre or whatever they made the things from. He would have to handwalk like Jack on his arse with his stumps raised, sticking out, unusable. If Jack were to stay with him, it might be a worthy experiment.
– Can I ask you something, Taylor?
– Sure. What’s on your mind?
– Are we going to be together?
– You don’t beat about the bush, do you? I don’t know. I asked you to stay because that’s what I want to find out. We both have pretty much the same problems and my flat is designed to cope with a lot of them. I wanted to get you out of your digs first and foremost. And then I wanted to find out if we got along well together.
– And what did you find out?
– Ha! I’m still working on it. But so far, I think you’re a pretty normal sort of man with a permanent erection. And you eat my cooking. What’s not to like?
– So on Monday when we go back to Brunel Park, you’re not going to dump me there, are you? I can come back to your pad again, can’t I?
– Yes, you can come back. Bring the rest of your clothes and books. I’ve made some room for them in the bedroom.
– Oh. Good! Thanks, Taylor.
Jack lowered himself and lay back in the grass staring up at the cirrus.
They relaxed in the sun, comfortable with each other’s silence. They ate most of the sandwiches, throwing morsels to inquisitive ducks. Slow river traffic passed in both directions. It was a comfortable few hours. Gradually the air cooled and the sky turned rose. With a huge orange sun on the horizon, they returned home. Later in the evening, Taylor showed Jack the elongated torso sockets he had found.
– This one looks like a thick peg leg.
– I think that was the idea. Would you like something like that? Just to try out.
– I’m not sure. I’d need crutches again, wouldn’t I? I suppose I could give it a try, to be a bit taller.
– We could probably make one out of plaster first. A sort of prototype. If it works, and you like using it, we could show it to the monocoque company and they’d use it to make a proper one.
– And would you have one as well?
– Yup. I’d have one made so I’m standing on my stumps inside it. We’d be as tall as each other. See eye to eye.
– That sounds great. It would be cool if we could have them made.
– – – – – – -
By Monday morning, Jack’s paper was ready, including the synopsis. He was in a much better mood and actually enjoyed the morning lecture. In the afternoon, when most of the other students were in the library writing, he was in his room collecting his clothes and dirty laundry and stuffing them into supermarket bags. Taylor would collect him after the last visitors left at five. He doffed his shoe and silicon and climbed onto his bed for a nap. He slept for three hours and was awakened by a knock on the door. Naked except for a T-shirt, Jack called out to ask who was there.
– It’s me, Taylor.
– Wait a minute!
Jack carefully swung his stump to the door and reached up to open it with one hand. Taylor looked down at the diminutive man in surprise.
– Sorry, Taylor. I was asleep. Is it five already? I must have overslept.
– Doesn’t matter. Have you got your stuff ready? I’ve asked the security guy if he can pack your stuff in the trike. I think we’re going to have to do this in two steps. I’ll take your gear first and then come back to collect you. How does that sound? Unless you want to go first.
– If I go first, the guard can come up with you when you return. Who’s down there?
– Sean.
– Oh, OK. I like Sean. He’s a good-looking bloke, isn’t he? Piercing eyes.
– I think he likes you too. I’ve seen the way he watches you.
– Taylor, everyone watches me! How often do you see a stump swinging along wearing boxing gloves?
– Every day, if I play my cards right. Come on if you’re coming. Get your silicon and shoe on and let’s get going. I’ve seen enough of this place for one day.
Taylor handed Jack his stump sheath and pushed from the base as Jack pulled from the top. The silicon released trapped air with a fart as Jack righted himself. He laughed. Taylor held his shoe steady. Jack slipped down into it and tightened the belts around his body.
– I’ve packed all my stuff. There’s nothing left to take.
– Leave the bags on your bed and Sean can find them easier.
It was soon done. Taylor held the door for Jack, who swung to the top of the stairs and waited for his man. He had started to think of themselves as more than friends or flatmates. Jack hoped he could be sensible and mature enough, despite their five year age difference, that Taylor and he could get on well enough to become a couple, two men sharing similar problems together. Taylor rocked along on his thin steel pylons, his kilt emphasising the movement of his hips. Jack began to descend the stairs, rocking his stump from side to side as it slipped downwards. Sean waited instruction behind his desk, pleased to see the torso boy putting his rubber stump thing through its paces. Jack noticed him staring and grinned at him.
– Thanks for offering to help out, Sean.
– It’s alright. I’d do anything for you.
– Careful! I might take you up on that sometime.
– I wish you would.
They stared at each other, both surprised by the blatancy. Taylor held onto the wall and concentrated on operating his prostheses. They both watched.
– Sean, I’ll take Jack home first and come back for his things. It’ll be about an hour.
– No rush. I’ll be here till late.
Jack winked at Sean and followed Taylor to his trike. Taylor drove home and gave Jack his key. He drove back to Brunel Park to pick up Jack’s belongings. Sean packed the back of the trike with them, as promised, and helped steady Taylor as he climbed into the trike. Finally he fitted Jack’s folded wheelchair into the meagre remaining space around Taylor. It was the first time he had helped Taylor, the pseudo-Scot with the steel legs and the stunning walrus moustache. Taylor gripped his hand and glanced at Sean’s electric eyes. There was a frisson of sexuality between them. Best to ignore it.
– Thanks for your help, Sean. Appreciate it. See you tomorrow.
Taylor pulled the bubble roof closed. Sean waited for the trike to move off before turning and walking awkwardly back to his desk. He had an outrageous erection and his uniform trousers were too tight to accommodate it.
Taylor managed to reach past the wheelchair to open the trike’s door and dislodged the chair. He manhandled it out of the trike from his seat with some difficulty. The wheelless frame lay on the ground in front of the door. Getting out was going to be a challenge. He heard the scrape of gravel and turned to see Jack swinging his way.
– I saw you arriving so I thought I’d better come and help out.
– Good thing you did. I’m trapped until the wheelchair is moved.
– Hand me the wheels and I’ll sit in it. You can pile my stuff on top.
It took two journeys but within half an hour, Jack’s possessions, such as they were, had found a home in their allocated places and the empty plastic bags joined the many others in the ‘bag cupboard’. And Jack had his wheelchair back. Taylor was illogically surprised to see Jack suddenly moving around the flat effortlessly. As much as he enjoyed walking on his shoe, the wheelchair was far more convenient.
– Are you going to use the wheelchair from now on, Jack? I’m thinking about getting it to and from Brunel in the trike.
– I’m not sure. I mean, obviously it would be convenient at times but it would just be in the way otherwise. I think I’m going to walk in my shoe this week for school. I don’t mind being in the chair at home. Unless I want to snuggle up to you on the sofa. And once I’m out of the chair, it’s easier to carry on handwalking than climb back in.
– Alright. I’ll let you work it out. I don’t mind either way. It might be an idea to leave it at Brunel during the week and bring it home on Fridays in case you want it at the weekend.
– That’s a good idea, actually. We could try it but not this week. I’ll be alright.
Jack sat in the wheelchair for most of the evening. They ate together in the kitchen and cleaned up together. Taylor was curious to know if Jack was more comfortable in or out of the wheelchair. Jack explained that it all felt the same. He was held firmly upright by his silicon and it felt the same whatever he was sitting on. Taylor had some press releases to review and occupied much of the sofa. Jack streamed video on his laptop and listened with headphones. They both looked at each other from time to time, unnoticed, and felt content to have the other nearby, another soul. At eleven, Taylor announced he wanted to watch a news broadcast. He used his phone to activate the tv. Jack shut down his laptop and wheeled over to sit beside Taylor at the end of the sofa. He sat higher than his friend and placed a hand around the older man’s neck. Taylor visibly relaxed. He almost always watched this late broadcast before going to bed and usually removed his prostheses during it. Tonight, Jack watched Taylor absent‑mindedly loosening his sockets and decided that the following evening, he would offer to do it for him. Jack was still strapped securely into his chair. Before the bulletin ended, he rolled into the bathroom, removed his shoe and lifted himself onto the toilet to urinate. He washed his hands, brushed his teeth and lowered himself to the floor as Taylor arrived.
– It’s all yours. I’m ready.
– Thanks, Jack.
Jack handwalked to the bedroom and lay on the floor. He loosened and removed his silicon and set it to one side. His place was at the foot of Taylor’s bed. The two legless men could sleep in the same bed easily enough, one at each end. Taylor’s stumps were just long enough to brush against Jack’s stump and genitals occasionally if he was restless during the night. Taylor handwalked into the bedroom and switched the light off.
– Are you comfortable, Jack?
– Yes, fine thanks.
– Are you glad you came?
Jack was silent for a few moments.
– There is nothing I would have rather done and nowhere I would rather be than here with you right now. Good night, Taylor. Sleep well.
– – – – – – -
They developed a closer relationship over the following weeks. They knew what each other wanted for breakfast, how the other liked to order their day, how they preferred to move, and the best times to make love. Jack decided he did not need his wheelchair at school. It was a relief to Taylor. Transporting the chair had been awkward. Jack insisted he was perfectly content to walk in his shoe at school, regardless of the repetitious necessity to pull himself up onto a normal chair. He sometimes used the wheelchair at home but it was most useful on weekend shopping trips. Jack let Taylor settle into the trike first and then jumped in, pulling the wheelchair in after him. There was room for the wheels on Jack’s right. The frame rested on his left. There was room for Taylor to arrange his prostheses so he was seated comfortably. They visited the large supermarket on the outskirts of town. Jack’s wheelchair was useful because a large shopping bag fit onto the seat in front of Jack’s stump. It made Taylor’s work easier. He had sometimes struggled to carry two bags of groceries.
– – – – – – -
One of the administrators took Jack to one side just before the afternoon lecture.
– We were wondering if you still need your room, Jack. I hope you and Taylor are comfortable sharing the apartment and if it will be a permanent arrangement.
– Yes, I think so. The room here is still in my name, isn’t it?
– It is, and we were wondering if you would consider relinquishing it to another student. There is someone actually waiting for it, in fact, so we were hoping that you might vacate it.
– I see. I’m sure I could. Can I just check with Taylor first and let you know tomorrow some time?
– That would be perfect. Thank you, Jack.
Jack brought the matter up in the trike on the way home.
– Admin wants to know if I’m going to need my room at Brunel Park any longer. Apparently there’s someone else who needs a room. I said I’d ask you first.
– What for?
– To make sure that I won’t be needing the room again.
– Do you think you will? Do you want to go back there to live?
– No! Of course not!
– Well, tell them they can have it.
– Are you sure? You mean I can live with you from now on?
– It looks that way.
– Thanks, Taylor. I’ll let them know tomorrow.
– You may have to make it up to me somehow. Are you doing anything tonight?
This was their developing domestic code for love-making.
– Haha! I don’t currently have other engagements.
– I’m relieved to hear it.
They left the evening broadcast unwatched and heaved themselves into bed on top of each other in a frenzy of sexual desire which had been building the whole evening in expectation. Taylor overpowered Jack in their foreplay ritual and won the right to fuck. Jack conceded, laughing at Taylor’s feigned dominance. Jack had proved himself the superior and more dominant lover several times. Taylor paid his lover’s more severe disability no attention. The torso struggled and tried every available contortion to dominate and frequently succeeded. This evening, Taylor pressed the torso into the futon and scooted into position on his minimal stumps. Jack pulled the remnants of his buttocks apart with his hands and Taylor rose onto his stumps to get his penis into Jack’s inviting anus. He relaxed and his tool penetrated further. Taylor tried the method which Jack used to fuck him—not having leg stumps, he could use only his torso to force movements necessary for copulation. Taylor was learning to do the same. He stretched his stumps behind him and held them rigid as he gyrated his body, tugging at Jack’s neck and shoulders for traction. His stumps twitched and flailed. They both fucked at a slower pace than ordinary men. Their love‑making lasted longer, signified more and their orgasms confirmed their status as normal red‑blooded men. Taylor released his tool from Jack and pulled the torso close. Jack fought his way with his tongue through Taylor’s thick moustache and they kissed and curled their torsos into each other’s warmth and love.
– – – – – – -
Nathan Payne received word later that week that the prospective room at Brunel Park was indeed vacant and he could move in at any convenient time. Nathan had occasionally been travelling to and from his lodgings by taxi and it was becoming expensive, although he had a grant for a fifty percent reduction in travel costs. He had little more than what he could pull in a wheeled suitcase and turned up with one on Thursday morning. The room had been cleaned, aired and the low bed had fresh clean sheets and a brand new duvet. The closet was empty, the bathroom spotless. He thanked the matron for her help and assured her he could manage from now on. His next lecture was at two that afternoon. It would be complete and utter luxury to descend only one storey to his room instead of needing to faff with ordering a cab. He threw his walking stick onto the bed and opened his case. T-shirts, hoodies, shorts, stump socks, spare stubbies and other stuff were quickly stashed. He grabbed his stick from the bed and worked his tiny peg legs to the bathroom. He opened his flies and relieved himself. He washed his hands and departed the room for the canteen, where lunch was being served. As he tottered in on his five centimetre long peg legs, looking around for familiar faces, he spotted space at an otherwise empty table, occupied by a good‑looking guy. He would sit there. He made his way to the counter and asked for assistance in combining a meal from the buffet’s selection. His assistant took it to Jack’s table and Nathan put his walking stick on the table before gripping the edge of the table and pulling himself onto the chair. Jack immediately recognised the problem and raised his eyebrows.
– Two short peg legs, chuck.
Jack chewed and nodded knowingly. He wanted to see the peg legs. The guy was even shorter wearing pegs than Taylor was when he stood on his stumps. Nathan was hungry, having missed breakfast by oversleeping, and did not notice Jack looking at his face, his eyes, his hair, his blond beard. Nathan was blond and blue-eyed, from the north, and his beard grew thick and full. It looked astounding on such a young face. Nathan suddenly looked up to see Jack staring at him.
– What’s up? Have I got food in my beard?
– No. No, you’re fine. I was, er, just thinking I know someone else with a great beard. Or moustache, really. It’s quite big.
Jack shut up quickly. He was babbling, flustered by actually speaking to this legless Viking god.
– Oh, really? Who’s that, then?
– Just someone I know. Have you just moved in?
– Yup. Someone moved out and I’m taking the room.
– I think it was me. What room is it?
Nathan told him.
– Yeah, it’s my old room.
– So where do you live now, chuck?
– I live in town. I share a flat.
– Got yourself a nice boyfriend, have you?
– Er, well, yeah. He works here.
– Very nice.
Jack stared at the newcomer chewing. Nathan smirked. He knew he was attractive to both sexes and he knew he looked older than he really was. But it was only in an environment such as this where he could really shine. He had lost his legs following a road accident in which he was trapped. His legs burned. Surgeons amputated three times trying to excise putrid diseased flesh until the teenage Nathan was left with nubs ten centimetres long. He learned to walk on short stubbies but these days preferred short peg legs with a walking stick. His pegs had steel pylons like most artificial legs but his were only five centimetres long, just enough to fit fat rubber ferrules. Nathan walked by splaying his minimal stumps and thrusting them forward. His ferrules gripped the ground and he balanced and propelled himself forward with a short wooden walking stick. He wore football shorts which were always too long. He allowed the hems to trail along the ground, through the dirt. They wore out quickly. Rarely was a more disabled man encountered.
– Well, it was nice talking with you. I hope you’ll like the room.
Jack lowered himself carefully to the floor and bunched his fists. He handwalked out of the canteen and turned a corner, out of sight. Nathan watched him, astounded that he had been outdone in the limbless category. The fucker had no legs at all.
Jack described the new boy to Taylor later, at home.
– I just happened to sit at the same table. His assistant brought his dinner over.
– And you were interested in seeing his stumps, I suppose. What were they like?
– Well, I don’t know. I didn’t see them. I left before he’d finished so I didn’t see him walking.
– And you say he has a big beard and you’re falling for him.
– I didn’t say that! But he does have a big blond beard. It looks really good. I wish I could grow a beard.
– Grow a moustache like mine.
– Shall I?
– Stop shaving and let it grow. So what do you think? Shall we invite him round for cocktails at the weekend? I’d like to get a look at him and his stumps and see what his gear is like.
– That would be fun. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? I’ll keep an eye out for him or leave him a note under his door.
Nathan had gained another admirer. He had asked Sean about the curfew and noticed that the guard seemed to be flirting with him. Sean had paid close attention to the way Nathan walked and had caught sight of the rubber ferrules. His minimal walking stick added to the impression of vulnerable disability, which always excited him. Sean had known very little about Brunel Park before he was transferred there and now he hoped it would be his permanent location. He was a serious devotee of amputee men and suddenly found himself surrounded by a couple of dozen. The legless guy had moved out and now this guy with the big beard had taken his room. Sean wanted to know Nathan better and intended trying to befriend him when the opportunity arose.
But as far as the weekend was concerned, Jack beat him to it. The pair spotted each other in the third floor corridor between lectures and Jack extended their invitation to spend an evening at theirs.
– We were thinking of this Saturday. My friend will come and collect you in his car and bring you back next morning. How does that sound?
– Great! Thanks very much. I’d like that. Do I need to bring a bottle or something?
– No, no need for that. Just make sure you let security know that you’ll be away overnight otherwise they’ll send out a search party.
– I’ll be sure to do that. Thanks, Jack.
Nathan stumped down to the entrance hall later where the enquiry desk was usually occupied by a security receptionist. It was Sean’s shift.
– Hi! Listen, I’m going to be out next Saturday night and I won’t be back until Sunday. I’m supposed to let you know, is that right?
– Yeah. It’s best to know beforehand if someone is going to be away. I’ll add it to the register. This Saturday?
– Yup. I’m going to visit the torso man’s flat.
– Oh really? He lives with another double amputee. But you’ll meet him there.
Sean was crestfallen. He would have really enjoyed invited Nathan out for pizzas in town or something. Saturday was the only night he had free, too.
– – – – – – -
Taylor was pleased that his invitation had been accepted and made sure they had enough drink. They could order in pizzas during the evening, enough for breakfast. They had plenty of room for a legless man to sleep on the sofa. With luck, it would be an interesting evening. Taylor was curious to meet the guy on short peg legs who seemed to have made such an impression on Jack. They seldom found themselves wanting to host guests, but both of them thought that Nathan might be an exception.
Saturday afternoon rolled round. Taylor sent a message to Nathan warning him to be on the look‑out for a red trike outside in twenty minutes. Taylor had no intention of climbing out of it and back in again. If Nathan was as legless as described, he should be able to slip behind the seat without too much trouble.
– Hello! Are you Taylor?
Nathan transferred his walking stick to his left hand and reached in to shake hands with Taylor.
– Nathan, right? Pleased to meet you. See if you can get in behind my seat. Give me your stick. That’s where Jack sits. I’m not supposed to have passengers but what would Mr Policeman say if he stopped us? He’s hardly going to make you walk, is he?
– Ha! Probably not.
Nathan was diminutive enough to be able to walk into the trike, although the extreme shortness of his pegs meant he had to pull himself up into the cabin. He tottered back and settled behind Taylor, who handed the twenty-five centimetre long walking stick back to Nathan.
– Are you comfortable, Nathan?
– All set and ready.
– OK. Hold tight. Here we go.
The trike hummed into life and crunched over the gravel forecourt. Taylor turned sharply towards the main gate and sped along the road. Nathan watched the road receding behind them with a grin on his face. A trike like this would be fantastic. He had already noticed the control joystick. He could drive this.
– How do you like the room? You know Jack lived in it before, don’t you?
– Yeah, he told me. It’s fine. I lived in a house share before and it was a bit awkward sometimes. There were all sorts of people coming in and out and they all wanted to know about my amputations. I got tired of explaining.
– I’m sorry to hear that. I’m afraid you’re probably going to do some more explaining this evening but at least you can ask us the same sort of questions.
– I don’t have any problem with that.
– Good. It sounds like we’re going to get on just fine.
Taylor parked behind the block of flats and opened the door to let Nathan out. He swung his protheses out the door and grabbed onto the frame. He pushed himself onto his feet and slammed the bubble shut. He towered over Nathan. He kicked his legs into action and strode towards the back door. He turned to watch Nathan wielding his walking stick, waddling slowly but surely on his minuscule peg legs towards him. Nathan looked around at the building and its surroundings, strolling with the same cadence as Taylor but covering only a fraction of the distance. Nathan’s steps were very short. Taylor held then door open for Nathan and they rose to the third floor in the lift. Nathan noticed that the buttons were low enough that he would be able to use them. Usually he used his walking stick to press buttons in lifts.
The front door opened as they exited the lift. Jack, sitting in his wheelchair, pushed the door open and welcomed Nathan. He rolled backwards to make room for Taylor and spun around to enter the lounge. Nathan followed him and stopped in the middle of the room, leaning on his stick and looking at his surroundings.
– This is beautiful. Everything designed for men like us. Oh, you’re very lucky.
– Thank you for saying so. Yes, it’s comfortable for men without legs. It’s why we have so few visitors. It’s nice to have a guest who is on our level, so to speak. Excuse me while I change my legs.
Taylor went to his bedroom and doffed his legs. Instead of handwalking back to the lounge, he pushed two short cylindrical stubbies onto his meagre stumps and put on a pair of white football shorts, similar to what Nathan was wearing. His reappearance surprised Jack.
– I’ve never seen you wearing stubbies before!
– No. I rarely wear them, you see, Nathan. But I thought that tonight, in your honour and because I am your host, I should remain able-bodied to some extent. And so you see me in stubbies.
They were short, black and ended in thick rubber soles. Jack watched Taylor walking on them as he had never seen him before. Why did he not use them more often? He had explained once, parental pressure. Surely it was more convenient to wear the stubbies than his long legs. He would ask later. It was not a suitable time while Nathan was present.
– Now, what would you like to drink? We have vodka and gin and a half bottle of whiskey but let’s leave that until later. Are you hungry, Nathan? I thought we could order in some pizzas a bit later.
Nathan nodded enthusiastically.
– Sounds good. I’d like a vodka, please.
– How about you, Jack? Vodka OK?
– Yes please.
– Three vodkas it is, then.
Taylor stumped to the kitchen and fixed three stiff drinks. He poured a drop of lime cordial into each glass and took them to the lounge.
– Cheers! Your good health. Nathan, one of the reasons we asked you here is because we’re interested to hear about your peg legs. Both of us are legless as you have no doubt noticed but we’ve never thought about using pegs. I hope you wouldn’t mind giving us a demonstration of your gear a bit later?
– Not at all. Actually, I have a longer pair of pegs in my rucksack. I like to wear these shorties because it’s easy to balance. With the other pegs, I can be as tall as you, Taylor.
– I’d like to see that. Shall I bring your rucksack?
– If you would.
Nathan looked at Jack, who was quietly admiring his companion’s glossy curving beard. They grinned at each other, two legless young guys, one about to demonstrate a pair of short peg legs. Taylor handed Nathan his rucksack and sat to watch him exchange the diminutive pegs on his sockets for steel pegs about thirty centimetres long. He screwed them home tightly and looked at the others.
– I don’t have my longer walking stick with me, so forgive me if I don’t go very far.
Nathan slipped down from the sofa and settled his long pegs. The pylons poked out of his football shorts, clearly visible for the first time. Nathan stepped forward and demonstrated how he walked on two peg legs without a stick to help. His pegs jerked forward as he took each step. There was power and control involved in using them. He spun himself around on one peg and rocked back to the sofa.
– How do you like that?
– I don’t understand how you can keep your balance. That was incredible.
– Well, I’ve been practising. I want to work up to using two full-length peg legs with a normal walking stick. But it takes time to get used to the difference in balance. I’ve only had these longer pegs for a few weeks. That’s why I prefer the short ones at school.
– I see. How long are your stumps, Nathan? Do you need a belt?
– Yup. My sockets are attached to a belt. I can show you, if you want.
Nathan took tiny steps back and forth to maintain balance while he loosened his shorts. He let them drop and kicked them aside. He lifted his T-shirt to display the wide Neoprene belt holding the peg legs securely to his stumps. He also displayed his junk, held in a prominent package by a jockstrap.
– That looks very interesting.
– What does?
– All of it. You don’t need to put your shorts on, Nathan. We often go semi-naked. I dare say you’d like to see our gear too, right?
– Sure!
Taylor removed his shorts, showing his cylindrical stubbies. He tugged at them and they gradually loosened. He rolled his liners off to reveal his fifteen centimetre stumps—by far the longest in the room.
– These are my two beauties. They’re just long enough for me to wear prostheses. I was brought up to use long legs rather than stubbies. It’s only since Jack and I have been together that I’ve considered changing into stubbies here at home. I can walk on my hands, but not as well as Jack. My stumps get in the way. You wouldn’t have that problem. Yours are very short. They look really smart. Two little nubs. Nice.
– OK, my turn.
Jack simply lifted his T-shirt. He was wearing only his silicon sheath which showed the profile of his stump intimately.
– When I’m in public, I wear the outer sheath. I call it my shoe.
– Don’t they usually call them boots?
– Yeah. But mine doesn’t go up so high so I call it my shoe.
– Is it comfortable to wear, Jack?
– Very much so. I love the sensations in my stump when I swing along.
– Wouldn’t it be easier to walk if you had a full-length body socket? It would support you better than that soft material.
– This is just silicon but it’s fairly thick. Funny you should mention it. Taylor and I have been thinking about having monocoques made, you know, like legless skiers sit in.
– Yeah, I know what you mean.
– But we haven’t found a place which could make them, so we have no idea how much they’d cost or how to go about ordering one.
– I know someone who could make them. My cousin owns a custom motorcycle place in Bedford. He makes sidecars for motorbikes from glass fibre and what have you. He’s already suggested making me one but I prefer my peg legs.
– Wow! Do you think he’d be interested in making us monocoques?
– Why not? You’d probably have to travel up to Bedford to get measured and fitted, though. And I could persuade him to give you a good price.
– What do you think, Jack? Shall we give Nathan’s cousin a call?
– Let’s do it!
The evening drew on. An order for three large pizzas arrived around ten when the trio was feeling the benefit of a few drinks. Taylor had shown his artificial legs to Nathan, who was surprised by the mechanical simplicity of them. Nathan was taken on a short tour of the flat and was impressed by the superb design in the accessible bathroom. A low toilet with supports each side, a pissoir next to it, a shower attachment by the toilet for intimate use and low controls in the glass shower cabinet. All the taps could be operated with or without hands. They stood on the balcony admiring the view, with the last of the summer evening’s light fading on the horizon. The town was quiet and everything seemed perfect. Jack heaved his stump back inside, leaving Nathan and Taylor to talk outside.
– Why don’t you put your name down for a flat in this building? There are a couple of seniors here who’ll shortly be leaving Brunel Park and I don’t suppose they’ll be staying here.
– It would be great to have a place like this. Who do I apply to?
– Just have a word with admin. They sort of organise it. I don’t know if you could afford to rent on your own. It’s one reason me and Jack share.
– I’ll have to look around for a boyfriend, in that case.
– I don’t think you’ll need to look around for long, Nathan. A guy as handsome as you is a great catch for any man, legs or no legs. It would be fun if we were neighbours.
Jack took himself to bed just after midnight. Taylor and Nathan continued chatting over a nightcap, when it was decided that Taylor’s monocoque would be designed around him in a seated position. His short stumps would protrude at a slight angle, making it possible for him to look Jack square in the eye, to sit in a wheelchair and to drive his trike. And the base would probably be two strips of recycled motorcycle tyres. Eventually they both fell asleep on the sofa, their stumps intertwined. The tv switched itself off after an hour but the lights burned until morning.
– – – – – – -
Nathan had enjoyed wearing and demonstrating his longer peg legs at Taylor’s place and decided to wear them at school. He had a longer walking stick but wanted to become accustomed to balancing on the longer pegs. He wanted to find out who to ask about applying for a rental apartment and not being able to remember Saturday evening’s conversations very clearly, made his way carefully down the ornate staircase to the security desk, where Sean sat watching his approach. Sean’s cock started its regular automatic reaction at seeing Nathan.
– Hi! What can I do for you?
– I was wondering if you know who I should talk to if I want to apply for one of the flats in town. I was at Taylor’s place on Saturday and it looked really great.
– I’m not sure. I think anyone from administration would be able to point you in the right direction, though. Why don’t you ask one of them?
– Alright, I will. I suppose the only problem is being able to afford the rent. I don’t have anyone to share with, see?
In a moment of carelessness, Sean’s lust got the better of him.
– I’d share with you!
– Sean, I don’t think it’s open to able-bodied people. You have to be an amputee, a helpless cripple like me with two peg legs and tiny stumps. You don’t have stumps, do you, Sean?
– No I don’t but I wish I did. I wish I could wear hooks always. I think I’d love that.
– Haha! You must be nuts. OK, thanks for the info, Sean. See you.
Sean watched Nathan climbing back upstairs and tried to squash his erection into a more accommodating position. He tried to imagine what life would be like if he really could have a pair of artificial arms like several of the students had. He had watched them at every opportunity and had even thought about doing his receptionist’s job with a pair of hooks. There was no reason it would not be perfectly possible.
Nathan sent a short email to admin info asking for a short audience with someone to present his case for an apartment. He soon learned that there would indeed be a studio apartment available and his name would be forwarded. As an already established student, his chances of being allocated the flat were higher than those of a newcomer. He spotted Jack in the canteen and relayed his excitement.
– And you’ll never guess what Sean said.
– What?
– He said he had the hots for the arm amps. No, that’s not what he said. He said he wanted to lose his hands so he could use hooks instead.
– Really?
– Yeah. And in that case, as an amputee, he’d be able to live with us as well. With me, I mean.
– I thought you might come into it somehow, Nathan. You know Sean wants you as a boyfriend, don’t you?
– Really? How do you know that?
– Don’t be so naïve, Nathan. Anyone can see how he drools every time he sees you. Go and chat him up. Ask him out. He might have a car and drive you around everywhere.
Nathan looked at Jack to see if he was serious. He was.
– Alright, I will!
Jack mentioned the encounter to Taylor when they were eating supper.
– It’s odd how being around amputees brings out these hidden desires in people. You’d never guess Sean was a wannabe. Everyone knows he’s a devotee. That’s partly why he’s so popular.
– But imagine if he had his hands off and had hooks instead. He reckons he could still carry on doing his job but I don’t suppose his employer would want him.
– No, I don’t suppose so. Listen, I have an idea. Don’t talk about this to anyone, not even Sean. Especially not Sean.
Taylor made time to pay a short visit to the department which organised amputations for prospective students and mentioned that he had a slightly different case which they might like to consider.
– If he loses his hands, his employer will dismiss him, but he’s quite adamant that he could do his job just as well with hooks and I’m inclined to agree. So, if you give him the go‑ahead to have his amputations, the only thing standing in his way is his employment. I suggest guaranteeing him a permanent job, but he’d be employed directly by Brunel Park rather than by the security firm and loaned out to us. It might even be cheaper for Brunel to pay him a wage than pay the security company. You can guess they take a good slice of the fees.
– You’re quite right. The security company increases its fees quite regularly and there has been some talk about finding another solution. If Sean were on our payroll, we could terminate the contract with the security company. Yes, I think this idea has merit. Leave it with me, Taylor. I know I can rely on your discretion. We will contact Sean directly when a decision has been made but it looks very promising.
– – – – – – -
Autumn
The days became shorter and crisper as autumn glowed in the gardens and parks. A new intake of students caused the usual upheaval until they settled into a routine. There were more youngsters with bilateral hooks this year. Sean was tormented by seeing so many young guys whose entire lives would be lived with two steel hooks. There were so many of them all of a sudden! Why was it so difficult for him to get rid of his own hands? It was not fair. Despite his internal conflict, he remained outwardly good‑natured, helpful and polite. Admin had kept a discrete eye on him and had decided to offer the man a permanent position but only if his amputations were approved. The surgical side were taking their time until a frustrated senior admin put a fox among the chickens by threatening to switch to another facility. Two days later, Sean was called to a tête-à-tête with admin after he finished his shift.
– Come in, Sean. I hope you can spare us a few minutes. Do sit down. Now, it has come to our attention that you wish to undergo amputations of your hands in favour of body-operated prostheses. Is that correct?
Sean was astonished.
– Er, well I… yes, yes it is correct.
– Good. Now one of the obstacles in our way is your employment. I understand that your employer requires full-bodied, healthy employees and I have no argument with that. Your problem, after your amputations of course, is employment. Who will employ a bilateral amputee security man?
Sean nodded.
– We have come to the following decision, which is what you might call a final offer. You will terminate your employment with Securateam and await an invitation for your amputations. You will lose your hands very shortly after you become unemployed, don’t worry. You will be fitted with body-operated artificial arms with hooks at company expense and resume your duties here six weeks after your amputations. Your work will remain the same, as will your duties. Have you any comments?
– So I’d be employed by Brunel Park as a receptionist with hooks and you’d pay for them?
– That is the general idea. I hope you are agreeable, Sean. We have invested much effort into organising this for you. We also understand that you have expressed a wish to live in the accessible block of flats in town. There will be a vacancy in December available to an amputee. Shall we pencil your name in for a studio apartment?
– Oh, yes please! That would be wonderful.
– Very well. That is all, Sean. We won’t keep you any longer. Hand in your notice and let us know when your employment terminates. We will take over from there.
– Thank you, sir. Thank you, everyone.
Sean was both elated and confused. Who was behind all this? He had never revealed wanting hooks with anyone as far as he could remember. And how did they know about wanting to move into Jack’s building? But regardless of how they knew, they were going to offer him a job as soon as he had hooks. It sounded too good to be true. A couple of hours later when his mind had calmed, he began to compose a letter of resignation to his boss thanking the company for his employment and stating that personal circumstances dictated that he terminate it. It was not untruthful but the real reasons, he hoped, would never become public. But soon he would have his own arm stumps. He could join the exclusive club of bilateral amputees without appearing suspicious because he would be one of them. He reread his message and saved it. It seemed alright but he would recheck it in the morning. And then he would send it. He had to give four weeks notice and agonised over the enormous expanse of time. He was desperate to share his good news with Nathan and the others but reasoned that he ought not discuss it. Voluntary amputation was hardly a subject for rational conversation even among other amputees. He would have to keep it to himself. He drew a line on his forearm with a pen and imagined it representing the length of his stump. It hardly seemed possible.
– – – – – – -
For the second time within a year, the same room on the second floor of Brunel Park was vacated as its occupant moved to a flat in town. Nathan had no furniture of his own and his worldly possessions fit into two suitcases. He dumped them behind the front door and immediately went upstairs to say hello to Taylor and Jack.
– Oh, look who’s here! Have you just arrived? It’s early, isn’t it? We were just about to have some coffee. Do you want a cup?
– Yes please.
Nathan stepped into the kitchen. His delicate footsteps on his longer peg legs squeaked as the rubber ferrules pressed into the gleaming floor. Nathan already felt secure enough and agile enough on his pegs that he intended asking his prosthetist for even longer ones. He felt he could manage forty centimetres and that, realistically, they were about as long as rigid pegs could be without being inconvenient. Taylor came out of the bathroom on his stubbies with a towel around his waist.
– Hello Nathan! Are you moving in?
– Well actually, I’ve already moved in. I threw my stuff into the flat and came up here.
– Haha! You like to travel light, I guess. Well, talk among yourselves for a few minutes. I’m going to get dressed.
Nathan watched Jack preparing their espresso machine for a small pot of coffee. Jack wheeled about, moving smoothly in the adapted kitchen, able to reach everything and knowing where everything was. Nathan admired him for his comfortable domesticity. Taylor joined them, towering over them on his full-length legs.
– I can guess you need to buy a few bits, don’t you. Nathan? Have you got any furniture?
– Nope!
– Guessed as much. Well, look. You need a chair, a table and a bed. A plate, a cup and a knife and fork and a saucepan. Do you want to come into town with me and we can get you some stuff? Have you got any money?
– I’ve got three hundred quid.
– OK, good. We can get something with that.
– Thanks ever so much, Taylor. I appreciate it.
– Don’t mention it. Jack, you’ll be OK for a couple of hours, right?
– I’ll be fine.
Taylor and Nathan motored into the town’s outskirts to visit a couple of hypermarkets. They had bought a lot of their own stuff from them and it had proved adequate. Taylor agreed to push a trolley while Nathan pegged about, picking out things which he needed but had forgotten about. Towels, a clock, a lampshade. Nathan asked Taylor for his advice about chairs and tables. There were several decent models for sale, all of them in flat packs, and one of them was on sale. Nathan decided he could live with normal sized furniture, since he intended to learn to walk on longer peg legs in the near future. He bought a futon without its base, reasoning that he could buy one later.
– You might prefer it off the floor a bit, Nathan. That way, the creepy crawlies won’t get you in the night.
– What? Is there an infestation in the building?
– No, no. Nothing like that, apart from the cockroaches and centipedes. But you soon get used to them.
– You are joking, aren’t you?
– Yes, of course I am. But get a base when you can afford it. It looks better. And it’s only sixty quid. Right! Apart from Christmas decorations, I reckon you’ve got everything you need. You’ll have to arrange to have the furniture delivered but we can get the soft stuff in the trike. Ready?
– Yup. Thanks for your help, Taylor.
– It’s alright. I know what moving into a new place is like. The important thing to remember is that you don’t need to get everything all at once. Make do with what you’ve got.
– True enough. Let’s get these paid for.
Without needing to protest too much, Nathan succeeded in persuading one of the shop staff to arrange for the delivery of his few pieces the same day. He was prepared to play the disability card but the woman was understanding and called a couple of delivery men to arrange delivery of a few light items to the town centre later that day.
– If you can be at home to receive them at seven o’clock, you’ll have them today.
– That’s wonderful. Thank you so much.
Nathan climbed into the trike first and Taylor piled his purchases on top of him. Taylor drove home and helped Nathan carry them into his flat. It was about half the area of their own but just as well equipped. There was a built-in closet near the entrance, which opened up into a single room divided by a set of cupboards into living space and kitchen. To one side was an alcove, room for a bed. One wide window illuminated the whole space and there was a door leading to a balcony from the living room. Nathan stood in the middle of his new flat and spread his arms.
– This is perfect! Look at the view!
Outside were a few small rowan trees hiding the road. There was a fake Tudor inn on the opposite side, The Fat Goose. Their Sunday lunches were a favourite of the amputees and the inn was a regular venue for impromptu meetings. The staff were no longer shocked to see young men with artificial limbs dropping in for a pint after school. Suggestions to rename the inn The Legless Goose had not been adopted.
Nathan accumulated a large amount of cardboard waste as he assembled his flat-pack furniture. The flat looked like a tip but it would soon be sorted. He had no food and, not daring to disturb Taylor and Jack again, strode across to the Goose for supper and a couple of pints. His steel peg legs were noted by everyone present, some of whom raised a hook in greeting. But he sat alone, tired and grateful for being there.
– – – – – – -
Sean spent much of the weekend alternating between fantasising and practical planning. He began to pay attention to the things he did with his hands, imagining how he might use hooks instead. Never having even spent time with a hook user, he was innocently naïve and over‑confident. He had seen many videos of bilaterals driving tractors, fixing cars, or chopping vegetables and assumed that the transition would be easy enough. It would be useful to talk to a couple of the hook guys at Brunel Park but it was awkward to think of a reason why he was suddenly so interested.
Securateam were disappointed to hear that Sean would be leaving. He had been a good employee, reliable and respected. A replacement would arrive a little later to learn the ropes and Sean was instructed to make sure the replacement understood everything about the job.
Nathan arrived by bus and Sean always exchanged a few words with him. Nathan used a walking stick again on his commute, although he did not use it once inside. Sean was frustrated that it was so difficult to forge a relationship with Nathan. He was friendly enough but Sean wanted more than mere friendship. He wanted a relationship. He wanted to know Nathan’s truncated body, to worship the stumps, to make love to the legless guy. Soon he would be able to experience love‑making in a new way himself. Would Nathan be excited by his arm stumps? How would it feel to explore Nathan’s thigh stumps with his new arms?
– – – – – – -
Two weeks before Sean’s departure date, another Securateam employee arrived soon after Sean began his shift. He was surprised to see a short, well-rounded young woman, bereft of make-up suddenly appear and introduce herself as Brenda. Sean shook her hand.
– My pronouns are she and her, in case you were wondering.
– I see. I can see why they might be. Are you here to learn this posting?
– It looks like it. They sent me here for three days this week and two next week and then I’m supposed to take your place, at least that’s what I’ve heard. Are you leaving or something?
– Yup. Another two weeks and I’m out of here.
For a month or so, Sean thought. Brenda took her phone out and started swiping it.
– Look, before you get into Facebook, we could have a quick look at the house and I’ll show you what’s what. We’d better find you a chair from somewhere, too.
Brenda looked slightly annoyed but put her phone away and stared at Sean.
– Come on. We’ll look at this floor first.
Sean took Brenda on the route which visitors took, past the cashier’s desk and into the long line of rooms which had been restored years ago by young inmates. Sean pointed out where the fire extinguishers were.
– Have you done the fire course already?
– Yeah.
– So you know how to use a fire extinguisher?
– Yeah.
– OK. Well, that’s all there is on this floor. We might just be able to look at upstairs before we ought to be back in reception. Come on and leave your phone alone!
– I’m expecting a message.
– Aren’t we all? You’ll hear it when it arrives. This is the floor where the students have their rooms. They are usually fairly independent but sometimes they might call for help with something or other so be prepared to run upstairs a few times a day.
– Why? What would they need help for?
– Er, did head office tell you anything about Brunel Park beforehand?
– No.
– Oh. Well, all the students are disabled. Most of them are amputees, you know, they have only one arm or one leg. Some of them have lost two limbs.
– Oh my god. So I have to help a bunch of cripples?
– No. That’s not what you’re here for. They’re all very independent and live independent lives. Sometimes though they need a bit of help. And don’t call them cripples, at least, not when they can hear you.
– What do I call them, then?
– Students. They’re students, Brenda. OK, look here. This is the main electric panel. The mains switch is here, these control lighting, these ones are for the electricity on the three floors. You shouldn’t need to open this but if you do, the keys are in the desk drawer in the cash box.
Two of the students’ doors opened almost simultaneously. Rick strode out and leant this way and that to lock his door. He had a pair of standard issue hooks poking out of his shirt sleeves. John rolled out in his wheelchair and Brenda caught sight of his short thigh stumps.
– Oh my god. He has no legs! And the other guy has metal hooks! Can we go now, please?
Sean glanced at the boys to see if they had heard.
– Alright, let’s go. Oh, wait! We’d better get you a chair.
Sean peeked into the conference room and seeing it empty, picked up one of the plastic and tubular steel chairs.
– Go on! Downstairs!
Sean gave Brenda a short explanation of Brunel Park’s history and explained that the gardens were cared for by the students, who were all disabled to a lesser or greater degree. Nathan arrived, tottering on his peg legs. He raised a hand to Sean, but seeing another figure, walked past and started up the flight of stairs. Brenda stared with a open mouth.
– Brenda, you had better get used to seeing amputees pretty quick. Don’t stare like that, don’t look shocked and don’t ask any personal questions. It’s nothing to do with our job what they look like.
Brenda looked at him as if he were mad, took out her phone and resumed pawing it. Sean left her to it. It was going to be a long week.
Sean spotted Nathan later in the canteen. He had twenty minutes to eat a quick lunch and usually brought sandwiches from home. Nathan beckoned him over.
– Who was that you were with this morning?
– Oh, someone I’m supposed to be coaching. She’s still downstairs. I think she’s going to have my job after I leave.
– What? Are you leaving? Why? Where are you going?
Nathan sounded almost panicked. Sean was impressed by his unrestrained outburst of surprise and astonishment. Sean peered around, checking if anyone was in earshot.
– I’m going to have my hands amputated so I can use hooks and after that, I coming back permanently to work for Brunel Park instead of Securateam. And Nathan, we’re going to be neighbours. They’re going to give me a studio in your building.
Nathan looked at Sean with an expression not unlike Brenda’s. There was a long pause.
– We could be together.
– I know, Nathan. I have to get back. Don’t tell anyone, will you?
– No, of course not.
Sean gave Nathan the bravest smile he could manage and returned to his work post to find Brenda typing on her phone. One of the new students missing both hands stood patiently watching her.
– Hi! Are you..?
Sean waved a finger at them both.
– No, I was just waiting. Will you be here this afternoon? It’s just that I’m expecting a visitor at three and I was wondering if you could message me when he arrives.
Brenda glanced at him. He had more of the ugly metal hooks as well. There were dozens of them!
– Sure. What number? And I don’t know your name yet, sorry.
– David Masters.
– Ok. I’ll message you when your guest arrives.
– Thanks a lot. Er, does she work here too?
– Not yet. She will.
David’s face spoke volumes and Sean smirked back at him. David raised a hook in thanks and went upstairs.
– Brenda, why didn’t you ask what he wanted? You can’t just ignore people.
– I was busy too.
Sean looked at her phone screen. She was playing CandyCrash.
– Look, put your phone down for a minute. You ought to read the instruction guide through so you know what we’re expected to do.
– Whatever.
Sean pulled a fat file out of the bottom drawer and handed it to her.
– The first half is important to know. The last bit is just diagrams of the security system. You don’t need to know about that but read the first section. And next time, you can look at the next bit.
Brenda paused her game and began fingering through the file, obviously reading nothing. Sean was exasperated with her attitude but remembered that it was not his problem and in about six weeks, Brunel Park would be rid of her too. He would be providing advice and service to students like David as an equal, two guys with hooks helping each other.
Brenda announced that her shift ended at three and that she would be back tomorrow at nine. Sean asked her to come a little earlier so they could tour the building some more. They had not looked at the third floor yet. Brenda laughed, put her coat on and left. It was difficult to understand how Brenda had found employment at Securateam or how a girl not yet in her twenties could have the attitudes she exposed. Half an hour later, Nathan stepped carefully downstairs and pegged across to Sean.
– Do you want to talk about your plans, Sean? You’ve been very quiet about all this. Why don’t you come round to my place after work for a beer?
Sean broke into a grin and nodded his head.
– I will, Nathan. Shall we say five thirty?
– As soon as you can.
Sean picked the file up from the floor where Brenda had let it drop and imagined himself tidying the pages with two steel hooks. He tried lifting the heavy file with his index and middle fingers formed into hooks but it slipped. He used his hands as usual. He would have to put extra elastic bands around the wrists of his hooks so he could handle heavy stuff. Students began to descend the staircase. School was over for the day. Another hour and he could leave too. He wanted to be with Nathan and explain everything.
Sean was surprised to see Nathan in a wheelchair. His peg legs rested against each other in a corner of his room, together with his much shorter pair and several walking sticks. He was wearing a pair of shorts, the legs of which covered his minimal stumps completely.
– Thanks for letting me come round. I’ve been bursting to tell someone about my amputations but I’m supposed to keep quiet about it. But I can trust you, can’t I? I know I can.
– Yes, you can trust me. I didn’t know you were a wannabe, Sean. Everyone knows how much you enjoy working at Brunel Park and that the main reason is you like seeing amputees. That much is true, isn’t it?
Nathan handed Sean a tin of beer.
– Cheers! Yeah. It’s true. I try not to make it obvious. I know some people are sensitive about that sort of thing.
– It’s your attitude that makes the difference. We see you watching us but it’s like you’re looking out for us in case we need help and you always jump to it if someone really does. We appreciate it, honestly.
– It’s good of you to say so. That’s the way I feel. But I also feel jealous sometimes when one of the students with hooks stops by for something. I’ve always thought having two hooks is just about the only thing I’ve ever really wanted. I don’t hate my hands like some wannabes. It’s just that I’d rather have hooks. And suddenly I get the chance to get them! And move in here! I’m so excited about it.
– I’m looking forward to it. I’d like to spend more time with you and after you get your hooks, there’ll be times when you will need some help.
– I’m going to try and be as independent as possible, though.
– Even so, there’ll be things you can’t manage. It won’t be easy, not at first. Remember that the students with hooks at Brunel Park have had them for years. It takes time to learn to use them.
– I know.
– Good. I wouldn’t like to see you struggling or be disappointed with them. I like seeing a smart pair of hooks too, you know. You’re going to have a smart pair of stumps too, I reckon. Half your forearms and nicely rounded ends on them.
– I hope so.
– Do you know when your amputations are going to take place?
– Shortly after I leave Securateam in two weeks time.
– Oh, I didn’t realise it was so soon! Who’s going to take your place? Not that girl I saw you with, surely?
– Afraid so. Her name’s Brenda. I don’t think she’s made a very suitable career choice.
– No, she didn’t look very happy.
– But as soon as I get my hooks, I’ll be back, working for Brunel Park instead of Securateam.
– You’re gonna look great! A security guard with steel hooks! Fantastic! Drink up. Let’s have another one.
Sean wheeled to the fridge and took out another couple of tins. There was ample room in front of his stumps to carry them back. Sean changed the subject to moving in to one of the studio flats by December. He did not know which one, or even if it were certain. Nathan was feeling the effect of his beer and made a split-second decision.
– If you don’t get your own flat, you can come here and live with me.
– Really? Are you serious?
– Well, why not? We complement each other. I’ll have a pair of hands and you’ll have the legs.
– You could ride on my back and be my arms. I’ll be your legs.
– Haha! Genius!
– – – – – – -
Amputation
Sean’s last Friday afternoon was embarrassing. Word had spread that he was leaving and Sean received greetings cards, hugs from students who came individually to wish him well and several emails with glowing messages. He longed to assure everyone that he would soon be back. At five o’clock, Sean tidied his desk and deleted his personal bookmarks from the computer. He was fairly choked up at the flood of good wishes he had received and felt like an imposter.
He spent the weekend in his house-share room, too exhausted by mental turmoil to want to socialise with the others. He sorted through his magazines to find anything particularly significant and divided his bookshelf into books worth keeping on the left and those which he did not want to read again on the right. He could take them to a charity shop in the week, although it would probably be a service to others if he simply binned them. He examined his clothes, imagining how he might dress himself without hands. Would Nathan accept his presence immediately after he returned from the hospital? He assumed there would be a few weeks when his amputations were healing but he had not yet been fitted with artificial arms. Life was going to be very difficult for a few weeks.
On Friday of the following week, Sean received notice by email of his hospital schedule. He was to make his way on Tuesday morning to a service station near the motorway, where he would be collected and transported to the facility for his amputations. He would stay until the stumps were stable enough for him to function wearing only shrinkers. It was hoped he would make arrangements for interim care until his prostheses were fitted. Sean read the message several time, and his breathing and heart rate increased. It was so soon! He looked at his hands and flexed them. Soon they would be no more. He hoped he would not regret losing them. He waited until early evening before sending Nathan a text message: amps next week! The reply read: come and tell me bring beer.
This time, Nathan was wearing his extremely short peg legs without shorts. His hoodie preserved his modesty. Nathan could not have appeared more legless if he tried.
– Oh good! You remembered.
Sean handed over a six-pack of cold lagers.
– They’re really freezing. Nasty to carry.
– You won’t have that problem for long. What day do you go in?
– Tuesday. Someone is picking me up from a meeting point near the motorway exit.
– And whisking you away for the dastardly deed. Do you want a glass? You know where they are.
They sat opposite each other, Sean in a chair, Nathan lifted himself into his wheelchair.
– How do you feel about it?
– Excited. Terrified. Worried.
– What are you worried about?
– That I’ll regret it. That I won’t get on with using hooks.
– Look, Sean. If you’re anything like the normal wannabe, you’ve been fascinated by hooks for as long as you can remember. You fantasise about using hooks every day. Suddenly when you now have the opportunity, you start to hesitate. It’s just your brain playing tricks on you.
– Yeah, I suppose so.
– And the other thing is that you’re quite right. You are going to be disabled for the rest of your life and it won’t always be easy. There will be lots of things you won’t be able to do yourself. You’ll discover them as they crop up. The important thing is not to give in to despair. Find another way to do what you want, if possible. Otherwise you simply have to ask someone else to help you. It’s not so bad, is it? Having someone help?
– So what are you saying? That I should rethink things? That I shouldn’t go ahead?
– No. I don’t think my advice is worth taking, anyway. I don’t know enough about using hooks to be able to advise you. I only want to make sure you understand that amputation is permanent. You can’t take your hooks off and go back to using hands when you get frustrated.
Sean reached for his glass of beer and skålled. Meeting Nathan was not helping to clarify his confusion. He was surprised by it too. For so many years he had wished he had hooks instead of hands. Suddenly he had doubts. One thing was sure, though. Assuming he went through with it next Tuesday, his mind would be free of the continual yearning torment. He would have his hooks, like the young students at Brunel Park. They got on with their lives without complaint. And his future depended on him being disabled. He would have his job and maybe a flat like Nathan’s on condition that he was disabled. He would get by with some help from his friends until he could wield his hooks like an expert. His hand was becoming uncomfortable from the cold glass and the condensation dripping down it. He gulped the rest of the beer and put the glass down.
– I’m going to do it.
– I know. I’ll be here for you, Sean.
– – – – – – -
Sean was collected from the arranged spot at the agreed time and taken to the facility where his transformation was due to take place. There was no-one else in the car and the driver was untalkative. Sean had persuaded himself that, even if he was not doing the right thing, he was doing what was inevitable. The car stopped at one end of a low industrial building, above whose entrance was a blue and white sign reading BlueBird Orthotics. It did not look or sound very professional. It was a cover for the occasional appearance of disabled people in the vicinity.
– Wait in the car.
The driver went inside and reappeared a few minutes later with someone in a white coat.
– Hello, Sean. We’re all ready for you. If you’d come with me, I’ll show you to your room.
Sean got out and followed the man. The car drove away behind them. Sean was shown into a sparsely furnished room with a hospital bed, a table and two chairs and a wide-screen tv.
– You can leave your things here. They’ll be perfectly safe. Have you eaten anything today?
– I had some cereal for breakfast.
– Oh, OK. Unfortunately, you’ll have to miss lunch. We are currently waiting on your surgeon, who should be here this afternoon. Your operation will take place at six o’clock and you should be back here by eight. You can drink water or tea in the mean time. Would you like some tea?
– Yes please. I would, actually. Is there a toilet?
– Just through that door is the bathroom. Toilet and shower. I’ll leave you to it. Someone will bring you tea shortly.
– Thank you.
Sean met his surgeon shortly after five o’clock. His stomach was rumbling and he was hungry. The surgeon shook his hand, introduced himself with an assumed name and briefly confirmed that he would perform two radial amputations leaving stumps halfway along Sean’s forearms. Sean listened and nodded his agreement.
– There are also a few legal papers for you to sign. Nothing incriminating, I do assure you. Merely confirmation that you undergo the procedures of your own free will and are cognisant of the consequences. I suggest you undress and put the hospital gown on and someone will be along shortly with the documents. Do you have any questions? No? Very well. I will see you in theatre.
He left. Sean heard him speaking to someone outside in the corridor. He waited a few minutes and undressed himself. The gown was a ridiculous item of clothing, sleeveless, open at the back, barely knee length. The attendant or assistant who had met him by the car brought several sheets of paper and told Sean to read them and sign them. It was plain that he would have no legal recourse if he was dissatisfied with his amputations nor could he attempt to sue the surgeon or the facility. He wondered if other patients had ever had cause to do so. It was too late now. He clicked the pen and signed his name twelve times in the spaces marked with a cross.
Sean was led to theatre and was soon unconscious. The surgeon severed both forearms, tidied the wounds and closed the skin flaps. A nurse wrapped the stumps tightly in several layers of elastic bandage and Sean was returned to his room to recover from the anaesthetic. The signed papers were placed in a safe. The attendant sat at the table, reading Legbry fiction on his phone, keeping an eye on the youngster.
– – – – – – -
Sean experienced all the disorienting post-amputation phenomena during the following week. His wounds were sore and he had phantom pains. Oddest of all, he could feel his hands although he could clearly see they were not there. He was also concerned that his stumps were shorter than he had envisaged. Perhaps halfway along the arm was too short. He should have said a bit above the wrist. It was too late now. He had seen his stumps a couple of times when the bandages were changed. They looked misshapen and square, nothing like the handsomely rounded stumps he admired. Apparently they would shape up later but he would need to wear tight elastic shrinkers on his stumps for several months.
He was fed three times a day and someone brought him tea whenever he asked. There was little to do and even less which he could do for himself. The television was on with the sound turned off. It was a distraction, little more than flickering colour. His stumps were not quite as sore as they had been. He was unsure about how long they would take to heal completely. The medical people had been non‑committal, saying that every patient was different and that people recovered at different rates. He was reassured that he would not be discharged before his stumps were medically viable.
– What does that mean?
– Only that they are healed well enough for you to be dismissed from medical care. They will still be tender but the sutures will have healed and there is no chance that they will split open. Unless, of course, you fall and try to catch yourself with your hands. Then you will experience the worse pain in your life and break your nose into the bargain.
– I’m not in the habit of tripping.
– Good. Just be careful. When you have prostheses, you can trip as much as you want. They are almost indestructible and will protect your stumps better than anything else. In fact, after you get your prostheses, you will rarely see your stumps.
It took fifteen days before his surgeon granted permission for Sean to leave the facility.
– Your stumps have healed well enough for you to leave. However, you must wear the shrinkers for at least the next three months at all times. You have described wanting rounded stumps. It is the shrinkers which will force your flesh into that configuration. You will find your stumps are sensitive. I believe you will soon be able to manipulate objects by grasping them between your stumps but you will have to wait some weeks before they have settled enough for you to be cast for your first prostheses. I hope you have someone to help you during the upcoming weeks.
– I wanted to ask about my prostheses. Do I come here to be fitted?
– No, no. There is an excellent prosthetist in Kent. You will receive his contact details when you leave. He will make your artificial arms and you will be in contact with him in future if you wish for new terminals or another harness.
– I see. I’m very worried about the immediate future. I try to imagine how I can even use a key to get into my house.
– Oh, I can assure you that there is no way you will ever use a key with your stumps. Even if you could hold the thing, your stumps would never be able to turn it in a lock. So stop fretting about it.
– But how would I get in?
– My boy, do you not understand that you are disabled? You are unable to do certain things. That is what disabled means. And I can tell you that even after you receive your prostheses, opening locks will still be challenging. But I don’t want to depress you further. I see that your amputations have not brought you the elation which I have seen in others.
– No. I suppose it’s because I want to use hooks more than I want stumps. The stumps are only necessary so I can have artificial arms and hooks.
The surgeon snorted. He was slighted by the boy’s dismissal of his surgical skill in producing the stumps the boy had described. He rose to his feet and stretched his back in a dismissive gesture.
– May they bring you joy.
He collected the papers he had brought and left without another word.
The assistant was more understanding, having spent more time in Sean’s company. Sean repeated his concern about being left handless for a time before he got his first hooks.
– You live in a house share, don’t you? Would any of your housemates be willing to help you dress and eat, that sort of thing?
– I don’t think so. They have their own schedules and routines. I don’t think anyone would be very willing to make my meals and feed me.
– No, I understand. How about other friends? Have you no family who could look after you?
– I’m pretty much on my own, I’m afraid. I have an aunt in the West Country, but she’s rather old. My parents are dead and I’m an only child. That’s why I was able to go through with the amputations. No-one else would be upset by me becoming disabled.
Sean was reluctant to call Nathan for help but after considering his options, finally suggested that there might be one friend who might help out.
– Why don’t you message him and ask, Sean?
Sean lifted his stumps and grimaced.
– Would you type a message for me?
– Where’s your phone?
Sean dictated a short explanation of his conundrum and a plea for help. He needed somewhere safe to wait until he had his new arms. Nathan grinned when he read the message. He had guessed that Sean would get in touch. He had even made a few arrangements for a disabled guest. He welcomed Sean to stay for as long as it took him to regain some independence.
Sean spent one more night in the facility and was discharged after a medical inspection and appraisal of his stumps. They were still slightly swollen but were becoming more rounded. The sutures were on the underside of his arms and Sean gradually accustomed himself to seeing his bilateral stumps. They were shorter than he would have liked but would be perfectly serviceable for operating prosthetic arms.
– Is there anyone to meet you? You will be returned to the motorway junction from which you need to make your way home.
Sean texted Nathan again. He was in a lecture at Brunel Park and Sean had to wait forty minutes before a reply arrived.
– can you be there for 5/5.30?
– ok
Sean might be able to delay the return journey until the afternoon. He did not want to have to wait defenceless by a motorway for several hours. His driver agreed to wait until two o’clock before setting out. Sean would probably arrive some time after four, which he agreed was acceptable.
Nathan had a surprise up his sleeve. He had gone upstairs to pay Jack and Taylor a quick visit the previous evening. Taylor had volunteered to take Nathan to collect Sean from wherever the new amputee was, although he could not bring the pair of them back. There was not enough room in his trike. Taylor realised he could just as easily simply collect Sean and bring him to their apartment building. Nathan was extremely grateful and promised to let Taylor know when Sean was expected. Sean would have a cramped ride from the service station to Nathan’s flat but it was the easiest way. They would avoid public transport during rush hour. Sean was unlikely to want to stand on a packed bus in his present condition.
The untalkative driver waited until two thirty before collecting Sean from his room. He carried Sean’s rucksack and put it in the back. Sean got into the front and allowed the driver to buckle his seat belt. The motorway was clear and they made good time. They arrived back at the service station at four fifteen. Sean asked the driver to help him get his rucksack on. He did not want to use his stumps to carry it. He thanked his driver, who told him to take care. The car moved off and disappeared into traffic. Sean walked slowly to the entrance of the service station shop. His hoodie’s sleeves hid his stumps. They hung empty. Sean looked at his reflection in the shop window. He looked and felt helpless. At any other time, he might have bought a bar of chocolate or something to snack on but that was out of the question. He read all the advertising on display and wondered if anyone had ever bought one of the greasy hamburgers because of the advert. He doubted it. He could smell fried food every time the door opened. French fries. He would love a large French fries! Dipping them in ketchup. He would not do that again for a while.
Taylor was on his way. He tried to keep to minor roads as much as possible. His trike was slow and other road users hated getting stuck behind small electric vehicles. Taylor was wearing his stubbies. He had arrived home early from Brunel Park and changed out of his long prostheses. It was easier to use the stubbies in the trike. He turned into the forecourt at twenty to five and spotted Sean looking hunched and dejected. His empty sleeves dangled in front of him and the rucksack seemed to weigh him down. Taylor slowed and sounded the horn twice. Sean looked up in surprise, expecting to see Nathan.
– Hi Sean! Have you been waiting long?
– Half an hour. I wasn’t expecting to see you, Taylor. Thanks for coming.
– Don’t mention it. Jump in. Take your rucksack off and I’ll put it in front.
Sean held his stumps out and shrugged to loosen the rucksack. Its straps slid slowly down his arms until it dropped to the floor. Sean leaned over and tried to hook it up with a bent stump. Taylor grabbed it and stashed it in front of his stubbies.
– Try kneeling, Sean. You have to squash in behind my seat. Take your time. Don’t hurt yourself.
Sean twisted himself around using his elbows and announced he was ready. Taylor closed the door and drove slowly off the forecourt and onto the slip road leading back to town.
– – – – – – -
Winter
Nathan readied himself to receive Sean not only for a few days but possibly for a much longer time—a least until Sean was granted his own flat. Taylor knocked on the door and delivered Sean, looking forlorn and embarrassed.
– Come upstairs if you feel like it. Jack wants to see you.
– Thanks Taylor. See you later, maybe. OK, Sean. Sit down and tell me all about it.
Sean insisted there was nothing to tell but Nathan could clearly see the difference in Sean’s demeanour. He was afraid that Sean regretted what he had done. For whatever reason, he had not thought through the implications of losing his hands, at being so helpless. Nathan tried to keep a positive attitude, helping Sean remove his hoodie so Nathan could see the stumps and complimenting Sean on their size and length, although Nathan was surprised to see such short stumps. He had imagined Sean wanted to lose his hands and not much more but he had lost at least half his forearms into the bargain. Without a pair of hooks, Sean’s stumps would be of little use.
– So have you heard anything about getting a set of arms?
– Only that I have to go to a place in Gravesend to be fitted. They didn’t have a date.
– I have a feeling that you might well be rushed through. Your replacement is turning out to be a complete disaster.
Sean perked up.
– Why? What’s she done?
– It’s more a case of what she hasn’t done. She more or less ignores people unless they get angry with her, she is very reluctant to leave her desk and in general seems completely uninterested. I don’t think people have actually complained about her but it won’t be long before she gets a good talking-to.
– I thought that might happen. I could tell she wasn’t interested.
– So as soon as admin hears about it, they’ll be in touch with your prosthetist to ask for priority treatment. Why don’t you get in touch with admin too and tell them that you need prostheses as soon as possible?
– That’s a bit difficult for me, Nathan. I can’t use my phone.
– I bought you a packet of screen styluses. You can hold one between your stumps and type away.
– Oh! That was good of you.
– And some foam rubber sheaths you can put on the stylus or on a spoon so you can grab them more easily.
– Thanks very much.
– Talking of which, are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?
– Do you know what I’d really like? A plateful of chips and a dish of ketchup to dip them in.
– Ha! Will you make do with oven chips? I’ve got some in the freezer. Alright, we’ll have those, and some frankfurters.
The simple meal was one of the most enjoyable Sean ever had and one of the most memorable. His legless friend had made it possible for him to feed himself for the first time. Sean was moved and his mood improved imperceptibly. It would be a long haul but Sean’s return to normality had started.
– – – – – – -
Sean had only the clothes he had arrived in. Nathan lent him a clean hoodie and T-shirts but owned no trousers. Sean made do with a pair of football shorts which Nathan occasionally wore to hide his stumps while using his wheelchair. Nathan left home every morning just after eight, making sure that Sean had sandwiches for lunch, a couple of pints of water and that his phone was charged. Sean’s improved mental state led him to experiment with doing various small tasks, inconsequential things but useful practice for a man without hands. He wore shrinkers at all times, except in the shower. The two amputees huddled together on the floor letting warm water flow over them. Nathan washed Sean and shampooed his hair. The bond between them strengthened and their intimacy lost its novelty.
The recalcitrant Brenda received a stern reprimand from admin after she had both refused to assist one of the students and called him a derogatory name. After a brief discussion, admin came to the conclusion that the sooner Sean could return, the better. A few strings were pulled unusually sharply, and Whitehead Prosthetics plc of Gravesend sent Sean details of an appointment two days hence. He was delighted that he would soon have a pair of hooks but immediately fretted about how he would manage the journey. Unless someone came with him. Who could he ask?
Taylor came to his rescue. He and Jack invited Sean and Nathan upstairs for Saturday evening cocktails, the euphemism for emptying several pints of lager. Nathan removed Sean’s shrinkers beforehand. The stumps were more dextrous without the sleek, slippery textile covers and Sean could handle a tin of beer, squeezing it carefully between his stumps. It would be the first time that the neighbours saw his naked stumps and he was interested to hear their opinions. He was gradually accepting the loss of more of his forearms than he had expected but now, with the promise of artificial arms in the offing, he realised that their length made little practical difference to prosthetic use. He was satisfied with his stumps’ appearance. His surgeon, bitter at the end for being slighted, had done a superb job at closing the wounds. The scars were neat and concealed almost completely out of sight. His stumps looked completely natural from Sean’s own viewpoint and he could imagine having been born that way. Taylor and Jack both took his stumps into their warm hands and traced his scars with a finger. They cupped the rounded tips in their palms and pressed gently, feeling the remaining muscles and a hint of the severed bone. Sean reported his main news.
– So on Monday afternoon, I have to be in Gravesend for my first fitting. We looked it up on the map so I know where it is but I’m not looking forward to making my way there with just stumps.
– What’s the name of the prosthetist, Sean?
– I’m not sure. I was just given the appointment. But the place is called Whitehead’s Prosthetics.
– Oh, I know it. I’ve been there a couple of times. There was a really good chap there who made my legs and when he changed jobs, I followed him to his new one. And on Monday, you said? Listen, I agree that you’d have trouble getting there on your own. I’ll take a work-from-home day and come with you. We can get a train from Waterloo, or a coach from Golder’s Green. Which would you prefer?
– The coach, I think. We don’t need to go into London and the express coaches stop at Golder’s Green.
– That’s what I was thinking. What time’s your appointment?
– Half past one.
Taylor opened an app on his phone and input the route.
– There’s a coach from Gravesend at four and six. I think we’d better catch the later one. We can have a bite to eat somewhere if we have to wait.
Sean nodded enthusiastically. Taylor accepted the timetable and the app generated two return tickets and charged his account.
– All set. It leaves the bus station at ten fifteen. Make sure you’re out of bed before then.
– Don’t worry about that! I’m really looking forward to being fitted.
– Good. A man should have a goal in life. Now, who wants another beer?
Taylor twisted himself up and balanced on his pylons. He was wearing shorts which accentuated the extreme length of his artificial legs. He put three tins of lager into his hoodie’s belly pocket, keeping one in his hand, and handed them out to Jack and his guests. He held Sean’s until Sean succeeded in gripping it. Nathan leaned across to open it and handed it back. Sean felt like he belonged in this comfortable group of amputees. Having been employed by an outside security company and being able-bodied, he had always felt a separation between himself and the amputees, an outsider. Now the situation had changed and he was gratified by the mutual friendship. They watched him manipulating his drink, using his new body parts awkwardly and tentatively to do something they need not even think about. They all knew Sean’s amputations were elective, that he had wanted to become disabled, and they were all grateful that they were legless rather than missing both hands. When Jack swung himself in his shoe to the wc, Sean asked if he might come too. He needed a piss and someone to help. Jack reached up to open Sean’s flies and held his tool, giving it a quick shake before returning it.
– Thanks, Jack. I’d do the same for you, you know that, don’t you?
– Sean, listen. We’re legless and we’re all waiting for you to get your hooks so we can send you on errands everywhere, so don’t think we’re helping you only from the goodness of our hearts.
– Haha! You know, I think you’re serious.
– Oh yes. But Sean, we’ll be with you every step of the way. We all like you, always have. You’re a different man now, disabled and helpless without prosthetics but we’ll be with you always.
– Thank you, Jack. That’s what I needed to hear about now.
– Come on. Let’s have another beer.
– – – – – – -
Taylor rang the doorbell and heard Sean fumbling with the door handle. It was odd to see Taylor wearing a pair of jeans rather than his kilt. Taylor made sure the door locked properly and they walked slowly at Taylor’s pace to the coach stop. Taylor had a long and thick walking stick, which Sean had not seen him using before. He made no comment. Taylor looked quite distinguished with it—a young man, wearing acceptably fashionable clothes and carrying a walking stick. Actually using it. Taylor had never been heard to complain about his meagre stumps or the effort he put in to using prosthetic legs but Sean had long since realised that it required strength and determination for Taylor to use the slender pylons which visitors wondered at and were shocked by. They reached the stop with four minutes to spare and were examined thoroughly by the other waiting passengers. The one boy had lost his hands. A fate worse than death. Rather be dead. Kill me if that happens. Sean’s sleeves hung empty and he had been sexually excited all morning at finally being fitted for his hooks. His erection was catching on the seam of his underwear and he longed to shift it to a more comfortable angle but he had no hands. He would have to squirm instead. Probably after he got on the coach. He was not yet ready for that particular indignity in public.
Sean allowed Taylor to climb up into the coach first. Taylor’s prostheses had simple mechanical knees, completely powerless. Making sure his feet could not catch on anything, he pulled himself up into the coach and flashed the fare barcodes at the reader. Sean climbed up behind him, balancing carefully without being able to grab onto anything. The driver waited until Sean was seated before guiding his bus back into traffic, southwards towards London.
Sean’s prosthetist, Arnie Weller, was surprised to confront two amputees. Taylor was wearing jeans but Weller’s practised eye noticed the unnatural way the fabric moved. The young man had bilateral prostheses without cosmeses. He welcomed them both and explained that he expected the first session to take about two hours. Taylor could wait in the lobby unless he wanted to go out. Taylor said he would wait and Weller escorted Sean to his workshop. He began with a brief interview.
– I see from your notes that you are an elective amputee.
Sean was immediately alarmed at such private information being available.
– Er, yes. That’s right.
– Chronic nerve disorder. Yes, I see. And have you had any related pain after the amputations?
– No, none whatsoever.
– I’m very glad to hear it. There is always the risk that the syndrome repeats at or near to the amputation site, as I’m sure you know. Well, you’re obviously one of the lucky ones. And it’s our job now to patch you up so you can get on with life. How have you been managing without your hands up to now?
– I live with a very good friend who helps but I’m alone while he’s at university during the day so I’ve had reason to try using my stumps for various things.
– Yes, of course. Shall we get started? Do you need help to get your top off?
– No thanks, I can manage this.
Sean dropped his hoodie and T-shirt onto an adjacent seat and sat again. Weller took the stumps into his smooth hands and inspected them closely.
– These are rather good. Well healed and a nice shape. Did you specify such short stumps? It is a little unusual to see short stumps on an elective patient.
– I didn’t specify them but I understand that they are still long enough to use artificial arms with. And hooks, I mean.
– Oh, yes. These are very suitable. Have you thought about your prostheses and what features you might like?
– I’d like them to be very basic. I want to use standard hooks which I can rotate in the wrist but I don’t want them to bend inwards, if you know what I mean. And I have heard that sometimes bilateral amputees have shorter arms than usual because it helps with things like eating.
– Yes, that’s true. An unusual request but perfectly possible. Is that what you would like—short forearms?
– I think so. Maybe ten centimetres shorter than where my natural hands were.
Weller scribbled a note to himself. Sean could make out ‘Hosmer 5’.
– How about material? Would you prefer natural or black carbon fibre?
– Black looks better, I think.
Weller made another brief note.
– Very well. The harness will be black canvas, as is standard. So you’d like short black arms with non-reticulating wrists and standard steel hooks, is that right?
– Yes, that’s what I had in mind.
– Excellent. I see that yours is a priority case, so I think I can promise you a new pair of prostheses in seven working days.
– So next week on Thursday?
– Thursday or Friday. I’ll let you know by text message. Right. I’m going to cast your stumps for the moulds which will take about an hour altogether and that will be all for today. Come across to the casting bench and we can get started.
Weller placed a rubberised cloak around Sean to protect his clothes. He wrapped plaster of Paris bandages around both arms up to his shoulders and made a series of markings on them as the plaster hardened. He sliced the casts off, checked them, washed Sean’s stumps with warm water and patted them dry with paper towels.
– You can dress now, Sean, and that’s the end of the session.
– Thank you very much. I’m looking forward to next week.
– I’m sure you are. Goodbye, Sean.
Taylor looked up, surprised at how soon Sean reappeared.
– Are you finished already? Good! Are you ready to leave? Shall we find a pizza place?
– That would hit the spot.
– We have three hours to kill before our bus. We’ll have that pizza and find a pub. I can’t face strolling around, sorry.
– No. Thanks ever so much for coming with me, Taylor.
– It’s OK. I know how difficult things are for you but you’ll soon have your hooks.
– Weller reckons the end of next week. Thursday or Friday.
– Good. I’ll come with you again if I can get the afternoon off.
Gravesend seemed not to have a town centre but there were a few shops scattered along a main street which had seen better days. There was a green, white and red frontage bearing the name Luigi’s which promised what they were looking for. The interior was traditional Italian cliché but it was warm and smelled of baking bread. They ordered two different pizzas which Taylor cut in half and they ate half each. Sean rested his stumps on the table, hidden inside his sleeves. Taylor fed him across the narrow table. It was a leisurely meal and their food was cold when they finished but it was tasty and filling. Taylor paid and made to stand. Sean rose to his feet and offered an arm to Taylor, who grinned and pulled himself erect by gripping Sean’s upper arms. Sean willed his friend up, lifting him until Taylor’s simple knee mechanisms locked and he adjusted his balance. He grabbed his thick walking stick and they exited to the street, looking in the direction of the bus station, trying to spot a pub.
– Let’s walk back that way, Sean. There’s bound to be something. We still have over two hours.
They found a pub called the Sailor’s Arms which seemed to specialise in brass facsimiles. Taylor was immediately wary of walking on the thick uneven carpet and sat at the closest empty table. He arranged his prostheses and placed his stick out of the way. Sean ordered two pints of pale ale and asked the bartender if he could bring the drinks over, as they were both disabled. It sounded such an odd thing to say.
– This is my round, Taylor! Can you get my wallet out? And my credit card.
Taylor found the card and put it on the table. Sean pushed his sleeves up enough to expose his naked stumps and slid the card to the edge of the table so he could grip it. He lifted his stumps to the astonished bartender, who tentatively took the card, swiped it and gave it back. Sean’s stumps gripped the card and dropped it on top of his wallet.
– First time I’ve done that! Did you see his face?
– Wait till you have hooks. You’ll probably see that expression quite often.
– Yeah, I reckon so. I always used to stare if I saw someone with a hook, which was a rare occurrence. They’ve always fascinated me. I don’t know why.
– It’s impossible to say why people like the things they do, Sean. Think of all the different ways people choose to dress, for example. Some of them choose the most ridiculous, ugly things and imagine they are the height of beauty and elegance. And think of me, with my kilt which, to be honest, I wear only because it shows off my pylons. And they are another odd choice, too. I could have cosmetic covers on the pylons to disguise them as ordinary legs but I like the artificial look better.
– Are you happy to wear artificial legs, Taylor? Would you want your own legs back if it were possible?
– I used to, when I was a teenager. I lost my legs when I was little and grew up with all kinds of legs, including stubbies and peg legs. Have you ever seen a seven year old wearing two peg legs and carrying a walking stick? That was me when I started primary school. When I was thirteen, I got my first pair of wooden legs and they were bastards to walk on. I felt really self‑conscious and sorry for myself and tried to hide my disability as much as possible. But when I got to about seventeen, eighteen, I decided to flaunt my artificial legs. People were always curious, and everybody knew I had fake legs so I decided I’d show them. And I liked the way it cut the comments. Very few people dared pass catty remarks when they could see for themselves why a guy my age had a walking stick.
– So I take it that you’re satisfied with your prostheses now.
– I don’t have any choice, other than sit in a wheelchair, so I’m satisfied with the way I am. I’m lucky to have decent-looking stumps, though. They’re a good shape and both the same length, which I always think looks a lot better, and they’re just long enough to let me use artificial legs without needing a belt and all that paraphernalia.
– I wonder how long it will be before I’m as satisfied with my hooks.
– You’ve been too hard on yourself over the past few weeks, Sean. It’s one thing to be annoyed by the inconveniences of not having hands and having to wait for your new arms, but you’ve also been worried about whether you made the right decision. For what it’s worth, in my opinion, once you get used to your hooks, you’ll forget your doubts. I think you made the right decision, although it would have been better if you could have had your hooks say ten years ago at school. Now is a kind of inconvenient time to lose them in your early twenties but you’re lucky to have a supportive employer. And God knows, you’ll be a huge improvement on Brenda, hands or no hands.
– She’s that bad, is she?
– She’s worse. So once you get used to using your hooks and not expecting them to do everything you used to do, I hope you’ll be back to being the same old Sean. I’m sure you will.
Sean looked at Taylor, impressed and gratified that someone obviously had given his situation some thought and had been looking out for him. He had felt helpless and forgotten at times during the empty days while Nathan was in school, but it sounded like his friends had been keeping an eye on him. It was hugely reassuring and gratifying. Taylor checked the time.
– We have another hour. Shall we have another pint and make our way to the bus station?
– Let’s do that.
Taylor went to the bar and Sean pushed the sleeves of his hoodie up over his elbows. This was the first time he had bared his stumps in public but no-one seemed to have noticed, or if they had, they were not interested. It was much easier to grasp a pint glass between his stumps and lift it carefully so he could lean forward and drink. Maybe when he had his hooks, he would be able to handle glasses more easily. Taylor placed two more pints onto the table.
– Are your stumps still painful, Sean? I know all about phantom pains so be honest.
– It feels like I still have my hands, always. I can reach out and try to grab something with a hand which I can feel but there’s nothing but empty air. It’s always a shock every time it happens.
– I know. It will take a while—maybe a year or so—before your brain accepts that there are no hands and that your arms end where they do. That’s something else I wanted to ask you. Did you ask for such short stumps?
– No! I said I wanted my arms off mid-forearm but the surgeon took more off. Luckily they’re both the same length. I don’t think I could stand having different length stumps either. But for whatever reason, I ended up with these shorties. It’s OK. I don’t mind now. They look OK and I’m having special shorter forearms on my new arms to compensate. I’ll be able to operate the hooks better with short forearms, apparently.
– But it’s not what you wanted, is it?
– Taylor, the most important thing for me is that I have hooks. That’s what I wanted and that’s what I’ll be getting. So as long as I’m able to use hooks without having to think about what I’m doing all the time, I’ll be happy. Meaning I’ll be satisfied with these stumps.
– It’ll be strange at first, reaching out but finding yourself with a short arm. You’ll remember how long far your hands used to reach but your hooks won’t extend that far.
– It sounds like something I want to experience, Taylor. It’s one of the things which comes with having artificial arms. I want to learn how to use hooks instead of hands.
– I have to admit, it does sound like a fun project. Well, I hope your hooks meet your expectations. Let’s drink to that.
Taylor lifted his glass and watched as Sean enveloped his glass with a stump each side and lifted it carefully towards his face. He had such a steep learning curve ahead of him, Taylor thought.
– – – – – – -
Taylor accompanied Sean again the following Friday morning. This time they selected a more convenient timetable. Weller held up a pristine set of artificial arms, which untwisted and glistened in the light.
– Take your top off and you can try these on.
Weller put two three-ply stump socks onto Sean’s stumps and fitted the sockets onto his arms. He had purposely made the upper cuffs longer than usual in order to hold the arms in place more securely. The harness slid over Sean’s head and across his shoulders and Sean experienced the intimate restriction of bilateral arm prostheses. He could move his arms but far less than before. He could reach, but only within a small range. He could relax his arms but they were still held firmly. All in order to be able to pull open one of the fingers on his hooks, which were much closer to his elbows than he had imagined. His arms really were short. Anyone who saw him would think his arms were too short. The hooks sparkled. He tried bringing one towards his face. He could touch his lips, his nose, his eyes. He waited until Weller’s attention was elsewhere and checked that he could reach his dick.
– Now, I want to make a few tests so I can adjust the harness properly. I can see it’s loose. So imagine yourself using the hooks perfectly normally. Don’t try to strain or stretch. Just relax and we’ll get there a lot faster.
Weller put his patient through his paces. Sean stretched out to both sides, above his head, in front and with elbows bent. Sean looked at his glossy black arms and the steel hooks, gradually realising that he would wear them every day for the rest of his life and that he had better get this right.
– I think the harness is as responsive as it can be, Sean. Now I want to see you using your hooks. Come over to the table.
There was a selection of items intended to test amputee patients’ dexterity. A child’s wooden jigsaw. Lego. Knives and forks, glasses and cups, a ball, a torch, a screwdriver and a block of wood with a screw in it, a spray bottle of window cleaner filled with water, an aerosol can of deodorant. The tests were initially amusing but Sean was surprised to learn that he would never use a screwdriver again, nor could he squeeze anything.
– You have no control over how tightly the hooks squeeze except for adding more bands to the wrist, but even so, you will never hold a bottle of dish-washing liquid and squeeze it.
– So what do I do?
– You will work out your own method, Sean. I’m afraid it’s up to you.
Weller showed a turgid brochure with various items designed for hook users, the most useful of which was a device to do up buttons. Experiments with cutlery were not promising. The standard hook was capable of holding both knives and forks at a set angle, but it was difficult for a bilateral amputee to fit them into the hooks.
– Bear in mind, Sean, that you can ignore cutlery altogether and simply use your hooks. Make sure you wash them before meals and you’ll do fine. People will forgive your odd table manners if you excuse yourself first. One day you will be able to use a knife and fork but you will have to practise for a while.
Weller did not mention that Sean’s choice of rigid wrists did him no favours. It would make life easier if his hooks could tilt at various angles but Weller’s job was now to demonstrate what the patient’s specific equipment allowed him to do, and not what it would not allow him to do.
– So there you have it, Sean. You have the prostheses you requested and it’s up to you to learn to use them. There are things which they are not capable of, so don’t be reluctant to ask for outside assistance. I think you’re set and ready to go. Do you have any questions?
– Not yet.
– Just send a text if you need advice. And if you want different hooks, you can get them quickest by calling us. Take this accessory kit with you. It contains more rubber bands and an applicator and some sewing machine oil.
– OK. Thank you, Dr Weller. I’ll be in touch, I dare say. Bye.
Sean hoped that the hook-users among the students at Brunel Park would give him advice.
Taylor grinned at seeing Sean return to the lobby. His hoodie’s sleeves were folded higher than usual, exposing the sockets on both arms. The short forearms were shocking to see but Sean proudly raised his hooks and opened them.
– All set and ready! Do you fancy a beer?
There was enough time before the bus left for a pint in the Sailor’s Arms. Taylor noticed the enormous change in Sean’s bearing. He walked quicker and Taylor asked him several times to slow down. He held his prostheses at an angle. It was common to see bilateral students holding their arms in the same manner. Obviously it was a characteristic of wearing a tight harness.
– You know, Sean, you’re going to need the sleeves on your hoodies and shirts cut to size.
– I know. And my leather jacket. My hooks will disappear into the sleeves completely.
– Actually, wear the jacket a few times first before you alter it. You might like to be able to hide your hooks on certain occasions. You can always take the jacket off when you need your hooks again.
– True. Alright, I’ll give it a try. It looks horny to see sleeves missing hands.
Sean fared better than expected in the Sailor’s Arms. Taylor brought two beers to their table in old-fashioned traditional pint mugs. It was an impossible shape to manipulate with a hook. Sean opened both hooks and placed the fingers on each side of the mug. He carefully lifted the beer but lowered it to the table.
– It’s too heavy and I don’t think I dare try drinking from it. I’d better practise at home with an empty one.
Taylor nodded and lifted the beer to Sean’s lips. He was impressed by Sean’s practical admission that his hooks were not up to the job.
– You need a narrower straight-sided glass. I reckon you could manage one like that OK. And also, you don’t need to fill your glass. Two half pints would be easier to handle.
– You’re right. I can see I have a lot to learn.
– You’re set up for it now. I’m surprised at how wide your hooks open.
– It’s a bit awkward because I have to concentrate on keeping them open. They would snap shut otherwise.
– Don’t worry about it, Sean. You’ll get there.
Their coach departed on time and wound its way around the eastern suburbs to Golder’s Green. They changed buses and were soon home. Sean had a key and spent half a minute trying to fish it out of his jeans pocket. Taylor stood by, watching. Sean passed the key from hook to hook, orientating it correctly and inserted it into the lock. The grip on his right hook was barely sufficient. Sean twisted his body, keeping his short arm at the same angle and after two attempts, the lock released and the door opened. Taylor congratulated him, called the lift and went up to his own flat. Sean shut the door with his buttocks and scrabbled at his fly. The beer had worked its magic and he was bursting. The zipper continually slipped out of the hook. Sean pushed it down instead and frantically dug his penis out of his underwear. The hook gripped far too hard to hold his tool with. He tried redirecting his stream somehow but ended up with a puddle of urine on the floor. He had also christened both hooks. He grunted and found a cloth to clean up. Another lesson learned.
– – – – – – -
Nathan arrived home to find Sean sitting in the kitchen with a variety of crockery and utensils scattered around.
– I’ve been trying out my hooks.
– Let’s have a look at them. Why are your arms so short?
– I asked for shorter arms because of my short stumps and it’s supposed to make the arms easier to control.
– Oh, I see. And do they?
– I suppose so. Look! I can pick up a fork and put it in the other hook and I can hold one of those tall glasses.
– Good. So when are you going back to work? You’d better let Brunel Park know you’re all set and ready so they can get rid of Brenda, although that will only need a week’s notice since she’s been there for such a short time. And tell them you need a uniform with short sleeves.
– Do you think I’ll have to wear a uniform? I won’t be working for Securateam any more.
– I should think so. Have you ever seen a security guard without a uniform? You’ll have to get fitted with a uniform of some kind.
Nathan and Sean made supper together. Sean insisted that Nathan let him try getting as much done as possible and took note of the things which were difficult or impossible. They needed work. Nathan was impressed that Sean could use his hooks as well as he could. Not surprisingly, Sean knew the theory behind how his new arms worked from watching hundreds of videos over the years but everything seemed completely new when he was in the same position.
Sean relaxed a little later. It was both a physical and mental effort to concentrate on every movement, becoming accustomed to having short arms with hooks and needing to plan and watch every movement. He had no sense of touch. He could do nothing without seeing what he was doing. The amputee friends sat together streaming a film. Nathan removed his peg legs and leaned against Sean, holding the left hook in his hands, happy that his mate had finally achieved his main goal in life. Sean had become a severely disabled bilateral amputee like himself, like their friends on the third floor. Nathan felt that Sean had become closer to them, joining an exclusive club with a high entrance fee.
Nathan watched Sean doff his prostheses before they climbed into bed. Sean succeeded in holding his toothbrush after Nathan squeezed toothpaste onto it. Sean had shucked his arms onto the bed and hooked the harness up in the crook of his elbow. He looked around for somewhere to put it, where it would be easy to don in the morning.
– Put them on the kitchen table, Sean. They won’t be in the way if we get up together.
Sean strode naked to the kitchen and returned rubbing his stumps together. They settled into bed alongside each other and Nathan pulled the duvet over them. They turned to face each other and Sean regretted not being able to run his fingers through the dark fur on Nathan’s chest. His stumps were too short to reach his dick. And Nathan’s. They nuzzled each other’s faces and gradually descended into sleep.
– – – – – – -
Taylor announced to the other admin members that Sean had been fitted with his prostheses and that it was time to prepare for his return. The Securateam contract should be terminated, Brenda should be warned of her imminent departure, which she might well be grateful for, and a uniform of some kind should be acquired for Sean. He suggested that the best way to go about it would be to research suitable clothing for Sean on-line and have a uniform custom-made. He wanted Sean to be in on the selection. The other members suggested that Taylor take responsibility for acquiring a uniform, which should be black, grey or navy and clearly marked back and front with the word security. They knew that Sean and Taylor lived in the same building. It was something the youngsters could plan themselves. Admin need not concern themselves with the matter. Securateam was notified during the meeting that Brunel Park wished to terminate their contract with immediate effect, or more precisely, at the end of the week. When pushed for a reason, the member announced that Brunel Park was in the process of employing its own security officer and that outside services had not proved satisfactory recently. The issue was settled. Securateam had no choice in the matter and Sean would return to Brunel Park on the following Monday morning.
Brenda watched Taylor approaching on his skinny legs in his silly kilt. She tried to concentrate on her game until she noticed that Taylor was standing over her.
– I have just come from a meeting, Brenda, and we’ve decided to terminate our contract with Securateam as from this Friday.
– So?
– So you don’t need to come in next Monday. Not to put too blunt a point on it, we don’t want to see you here again.
– But where am I gonna work?
– I have no idea, Brenda. At the Candy Crash factory, I suppose. You’ll have to talk to your supervisor at Securateam. But you finish here on Friday afternoon. Make sure the place is tidy for your replacement when you leave.
Taylor rocked himself around, strode across to the staircase and began his laboured climb up to the second floor. Brenda was left hyperventilating at losing an easy job.
– – – – – – -
Taylor called on Nathan and Sean later that evening. He brought an envelope from admin and handed it to Sean.
– We were talking about getting you a uniform, Sean, so I’ve come round to get your measurements. And we can have a look on-line to see if there are any tailors around who can make it for you.
– Oh, good. I hope it’s something without a load of buttons. I’m not very good with buttons.
– Well, that’s why I’ve come down. We can have a look now. Sooner the better. Er, why don’t you have a look at what’s in the envelope?
Taylor knew. It was an employment contract which Sean needed to sign and an acceptance form for renting the ground floor flat diagonally opposite Nathan’s. The rent would be deducted from his monthly wage before tax, making it in effect twenty percent cheaper. It would be vacant on the first of December, ten days hence. Sean turned the envelope until he could insert a finger into the flap at the rear. He jerked his hook carefully and the envelope tore open along the top. Sean tilted it and plucked out several sheets of paper. He dropped the envelope, put the papers on his lap and peered at the first page.
– Oh great! This is my new work contract.
He read through the conditions, all of which were familiar to him, and nipped the top sheet aside. Without consciously realising, he was using his hooks without needing to think about what he was doing. His mind was occupied by something else. He read the third, final page and lifted his hooks in front of his face.
– All I need to do now is sign. Oh dear.
– Something else to practise, Sean. You don’t need to do it tonight. What’s on the last page?
– Let’s see.
Sean moved the employment contract to one side, on top of the envelope. The last page stunned him into silence. He bent over it reading it again to make certain he understood.
– I’ve been given the flat opposite. I can move in on the first.
– Congratulations, Sean. Welcome.
Sean looked around at his friends’ smiling faces. He owed everything to them, especially to Taylor. And to Nathan. And to Jack, for being so stoic about being so utterly disabled and for giving him confidence to disable himself in turn. Nathan spoke.
– You can live here with me even after you get your flat, Sean. But it would be good if you have your own pad to adapt to your own needs. My place is kitted out for a legless bloke. You can make yours suitable for a guy with no hands.
Sean was almost in tears of gratitude. Everything had come together. He had his job back, he would have a new flat and he had brand new hooks. He arranged the papers neatly, held the envelope open and guided them inside the envelope.
– Jack and I had some good news too today. Tell them, Jack.
– Well, there’s not much to tell, really. Our monocoques are ready. Your cousin came through for us, Nathan, and we’ve been up to Bedford a couple of times to be fitted. We’ll have them before Christmas.
– Early Christmas presents!
– They will be. We’ll both be at each other’s level when we’re together at home, and I’ll be able to experience life as Jack sees it from his perspective. I’m quite looking forward to feeling completely legless.
– Pretty soon you’ll not want to go back to your stilts.
– There is that danger. So that’s our good news.
– This calls for a drink.
Nathan pegged to the kitchen and found a bottle of whiskey in the fridge. He found three small glasses, formerly mustard pots, and Sean’s tall straight glass and took them across to the sofa table.
– Help yourselves!
Sean looked at him questioningly and at the bottle. It had square sides. He might actually be able to pour himself a drink. He let the others pour their drinks first. They held their glasses, waiting for Sean to get his.
– Nathan, turn my hooks upwards, will you? Thanks.
Sean gripped the bottle with one hook and his glass with the other. It was much easier than he expected. A generous splash of whiskey poured into the glass. He lowered the bottle to the table and shrugged to release his grip.
– Cheers, everyone. Welcome to your new flat, Sean.
The evening continued in the same vein until the bottle was empty. It was one of the best evenings of Sean’s life, not least because of the growing sense of belonging he felt with his amputee friends.
– – – – – – -
Everything was ready for Sean’s return. Brenda’s fingerprints had been cleaned from the monitor, the desk top had been polished although the slight odour of chewing gum hung in the air. Sean sat behind his desk as he always had, now with his hooks on the table top for all to see. Most new arrivals hurried past without glancing at the security desk, having learned not to bother with greeting Brenda. Several students spotted him immediately, however, and were astonished not only by his return but also by seeing him sporting his own pair of hooks. His jacket sleeves had been altered to allow the hooks to protrude from the wrist mechanisms to their fullest degree. He repeated a redacted version of his transformation several times and revealed that he was now a Brunel Park employee. Word would get around to everyone else by lunchtime.
Taylor and Sean had sat together the following evening, slight hangovers forgotten. They looked at suppliers of uniforms, always bearing in mind that Sean needed some design which he could dress in without hands. There were blazers and military jackets, including one which Taylor liked the look of and bookmarked, and they followed a link to a company in St Albans which professed to supply custom uniforms within four working days. They offered an unusual range of outfits, from those suited to a restaurant chef to a helicopter pilot. Their secret was a vast selection of digital patterns which could be shaped and altered at will. Sean was attracted by a uniform designed for a flyer. The jacket was short, a blouson like a bomber jacket but more tightly fitted. The matching trousers had high hips and would come up over his belly button. The photo of the model shown wearing the outfit depicted a man with seemingly phenomenally long legs and a short upper body.
– Look at this one! I can just imagine myself wearing that.
– Show me. Wow! Look at his legs! Ha! You know what? If you had this jacket altered so the sleeves were shorter, it would look like you were eighty percent legs. Let me think. You’d be able to wear a jacket like this all day, wouldn’t you?
– It depends what it’s made of. If it’s heavy wool, it might be too hot. But otherwise, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work.
– Let’s see what materials they have. Nylon, nylon and wool, wool, wool and terylene. I don’t know. They’ll know what stuff would be best. And the jacket has to have security marked on it front and back, so do your shirts. Will you have short-sleeved shirts to show off your arms?
– Of course! What do you think?
– Alright. I’m going to give this lot a call. Can you think of anything else you might need?
– Suit and shirts, maybe a tie. What do you think?
– Can you handle a tie?
– Don’t know. Not yet, I guess.
– OK. Not important for now.
Taylor called the supplier and explained his requirements. He learned that the clothing could be produced in thirty-six hours, including the shirt. He explained that the uniform would be worn by an arm amputee who required shorter than normal sleeves, and was assured that it was no problem. Each and every length was customisable. The uniform with its embroidered text would be ready on Friday evening if the gentleman presented himself tomorrow morning.
– That sounds perfect. What time do you open? And St Anne’s Road, St Albans? Fine, thank you. See you tomorrow. Right! Sean, you’ll have your uniform before you start back at Brunel Park. Tomorrow morning we’ll go to St Albans in the trike and they’ll get you measured up.
– And it’ll have short arms so I can use my hooks?
– So they tell me. I’ll call for you at eight, alright? It’ll take us about an hour to get there and they should be open by then.
Sean squashed himself into the meagre space behind Taylor’s seat in the trike. There was just enough room for a slim adult when the seat was in its forwardmost position. Taylor still had plenty of stump room. He wore his stubbies and was becoming less reticent to be seen on such deviant legs in public. It was their alien appearance which was the most shocking. It was difficult to decide when Taylor appeared more stunning—when he wore his long thin pylons with his kilt or his black cylindrical stubbies with skimpy shorts.
The tailor at BullsEye Outfitters was a jovial rotund man who greeted the amputees like old friends. The store front was an orderly mish-mash of various uniforms and the walls were covered with accessories like steel helmets, gasmasks, officer’s caps, dozens of baseball caps and the like. They went into the back, which was a total contrast to the shop itself. Bolts of fabric lined the walls, a large laser cutter occupied much of the floor and semi-automatic sewing machines lined one wall. Sean stripped naked and his dimensions were recorded by lasers. They indicated the flyer’s uniform they had decided on and placed their trust in the expert’s judgement regarding the navy blue material. Sean made very clear that the tailor understood that the sleeves were to be shorter than normal and was assured that the laser scan would result in the perfect fit. Taylor nudged Sean and pointed at a leather officer’s cap. Sean knocked it down with a hook and tried it on. It fit him and he kept it on. They thanked the tailor, paid and left.
The laser cutter quickly produced the segments necessary to assemble Sean’s uniform, including linings of blue silk. By late afternoon, the short sleeved blouson was ready including the embroidered security texts front and back and work began on assembling the matching high-waist trousers. The tailor folded the uniform perfectly, first in tissue paper, and placed it into a cardboard box. He waited for the arrival of a motorcycle courier before closing and went home to dream of making love to an armless airman. Sean received his new uniform the next morning.
After the usual morning routine, Brunel Park quietened. The winter months were always quiet, dedicated to study. Sean patrolled the premises conscientiously every day, checking fire extinguishers, locked doors, reporting minor repairs forward, looking at his reflection in the grand windows when he stood illuminated by a chandelier. It was as Taylor had predicted—it looked as if his legs reached his armpits. The short jacket was perfect for a man in his situation. The sleeves covered his sockets but allowed his hooks to shine. Sean felt complete, whole, in a way which a non‑amputee could never experience. He turned away from his reflection and went upstairs to make sure the students’ doors were shut securely.
– – – – – – -
Sean continued to live with Nathan even after receiving the keys to his own apartment. He had precious little money to purchase new furniture. He would have to save first. The flat was a mirror image of Nathan’s and it seemed disorientating at first. The facilities were identical. Sean collected a few things from his house-share and terminated his rent agreement. His former housemates were astounded to see him wearing hooks. He explained he had been infected by an insect bite which had resulted in sepsis and the loss of his hands. It seemed to be credible and he decided he would use it more often. Most people were too well‑behaved to ask about his amputations but brash individuals sometimes felt emboldened to enquire. The insect bite thing was good because anyone might fall victim to it. Sean knew very well that his amputations were arranged by Brunel Park but had not yet learned of its decades‑old policy of recruiting wannabe amputees. He was a young man and the senior admin members placed their trust in juniors only in exceptional circumstances. Taylor had, for whatever reason, passed their approval criteria and was responsible for Sean’s maiming. Sean was grateful to him for arranging his steel hooks. He was learning to use them to their best advantage, thanks in no small measure to younger students with bilateral arm amputations who had almost to a man made it a habit to check in every day at the security desk to chat with Sean. He did not regard them as friends, but rather his admirers. He felt protective of and responsible for the disabled students. The irony was that they all attended university, whereas he had scraped by with a few mediocre exam results. Despite that, he had authority over them to some degree. He admired them for their desire to learn about nature and how to take care of it. Recent winter storms wreaked increasing amounts of damage. There were obviously severe problems ahead and it was reassuring to know that research was under way on how to preserve food plants, not least at Brunel Park by the elite student body of amputees.
– – – – – – -
Saturday morning and Taylor received a text message asking when would it be convenient to accept a courier package.
– any time today is ok
Half an hour later, a courier delivered a large concave package wrapped in brown paper. Taylor signed for it and studied the label. It was from Nathan’s cousin’s place. Their torso sockets had arrived.
– Jack! Come and see this!
Jack handwalked out of their bedroom wearing only his silicon.
– Do you want to open it?
– I just want to see what they look like. Go ahead.
Taylor tore into the paper and revealed the four halves of their torso sockets. They were deep midnight blue, extremely glossy and almost the same size. Carbon fibre straps were welded onto the shells, to be closed with ratcheted locks across the front. The rear sections were moulded to include slightly splayed stumps which pointed up at a five degree angle. Taylor’s stumps would fit into them comfortably but he would be unable to balance on them. When sitting, minimum contact would be on the base of the socket. In this way, Taylor could experience the sensation of complete leglessness which Jack endured. Jack on his part had requested identical stumps on his socket because he liked the look of Taylor’s. The gentle curve from the base to the tips of the stumps made it easy to roll forward. There were also four matching carbon fibre handles with rubber bases. Instead of using their knuckles to walk on, they could grip the handles to use as crutches to lift themselves. In times past, legless men had used heavy flat irons for the same purpose.
– Are you going to put yours on? I am.
Jack shuffled back to the bedroom in search of a cotton stump sock. He unzipped the silicon torso stump socket and wriggled into the skimpy cotton version. He handwalked back and began arranging his socket’s components. He fit the front and rear pieces together and checked that the locks worked as expected. Satisfied, he placed the back half with the stumps horizontally beside him and lifted his torso onto it. He squirmed until it felt comfortable and reached for the front panel. It slotted into the back part easily. Jack connected the locking straps across his chest and belly and tightened them. He rapped on the rigid socket and pushed himself upright. The stumps prevented him from toppling forward and he handwalked to stare at himself in the hall mirror. The socket felt sensational. Rigid, uncompromising and secure. Jack admired the socket’s stumps. He had never had leg stumps and the novelty was fascinating. He had transitioned directly from wearing his heavy steel knee‑ankle‑foot orthoses to being a bilateral disart boasting only his broad torso stump. He returned to the living room where Nathan was removing his stubbies. The sound of the torso socket in motion was solid. Jack thought about what it might sound like to their downstairs neighbour, a second year student with artificial legs. Jack parked himself and balanced on the small flat base. The socket reached up to his chest and emphasized his chest muscles and muscular arms. Nathan had found some self-adhesive rubber soles between his components. They were for the base, if so desired.
– You look fantastic. And you look great with stumps. OK, my turn.
Taylor removed his underpants but kept his T-shirt on. He slid his body into the rear section, leg stumps first. They were held immovable at an unusual angle and he immediately felt disabled by the unfamiliar rigidity. As Jack had done, Taylor reached for the front section and locked himself into it. He laughed at the new sensation. He tried righting himself, pushing with his stumps but nothing happened. His stumps were useless. He and Jack were both identically disabled. He pushed himself erect and held his arms out to catch himself if he overbalanced but the stumps prevented it. He spun himself around on the small flat area keeping him balanced. So this is what it was like to have a torso stump. He lifted himself on his hands and swung himself past Jack who had crossed his arms while he watched Taylor. Moving himself without being able to move his stumps was hugely erotic. Taylor began to have an erection and wondered if there was room for it. It fit sideways, squashed slightly between his belly and the socket. He automatically reached down to adjust it or straighten it and felt only glossy carbon fibre. It was even more erotic. Taylor turned from one side to the other, admiring the way the stumps did not quite touch the floor, letting him spin himself like a child’s toy which always returned to an upright position. He lifted himself again, trying to adjust his erection but it was no use. He grunted and ejaculated inside the socket, covering his lower belly with sperm. He waited for a few seconds, enjoying the release. He rocked himself around to face Jack.
– I just came.
– Yeah, I thought so. You obviously like it.
– It feels—I don’t know, so permanent, so unforgiving.
– Rigid is the word you are looking for. I’m keeping mine on. What are you going to do? You could use your wheelchair for a change if you don’t want to handwalk. Give me a couple of those handles, will you? I want to try them out.
Jack looked at one more closely and noticed the slightly curved bottom. It had a strip of rubber along it. He spread his arms to each side and pushed on the handles. It felt a little insecure. He would test them but suspected that he would return to his trusty old boxing gloves before long. Not wanting to be out-done, Taylor picked the other two handles up and followed Jack around the living room floor. They looked at each other and burst out laughing at the surreal situation. Taylor grabbed hold of Jack and their sockets clashed. Taylor forced his mouth on Jack’s and poked his tongue through his enormous walrus moustache. They lowered themselves to the floor and clashed their sockets together as they grappled in sexual excitement, unable to feel their bodies, unable to move. Their carbon stumps knocked against each other.
Three floors below them, Sean was about to undergo a minor transformation. He had been about to depart Brunel Park the previous evening when David Masters called out to him.
– Wait up, Sean! I’ve got something for you.
– Oh, hi David. What’s that?
– Well, I had a birthday a fortnight ago…
– Congratulations!
– Thanks. And my uncles and aunts were all at sixes and sevens about what to buy me. Apparently I’m difficult to buy for, you see. So my mum told them that I was after new hooks, different ones, see? Of course, she doesn’t know anything about hooks really, so what happened was that I got a set of reproduction hooks from the nineteenth century from one uncle. I suppose he bought it off Amazon or something. Anyway, yesterday I got this other package in the post. Late, of course. And it’s another set of the exact same thing—copies of ancient hooks and the like. So I was wondering if you might like to try them out and play around with them. There’s one nice hook in there which I like. So anyway, I’d like you to have this as a welcome present to the wonderful world of hook users.
– That’s very kind of you, Dave. Thanks very much. Do you mind if I don’t open it right now?
– No, of course not. Let me drop it into your backpack and you can look at it later. OK, see you Monday, Sean. Have a nice weekend!
– Thanks, David. And you.
Sean and Nathan opened the package after supper. It was a soft black leather case with a large zipper. Inside were several devices which arm amputees had used at various times. There was the large hook which David had mentioned, a fork attachment, a spoon and a vicious-looking serrated knife. Then there was a large brass ring, maybe for holding a glass of beer in and a small sphere a bit smaller than a golf ball on an adjustable half inch rod. It was mystifying until Sean realised its purpose was to act as a sleeve filler. If he did not wish to wear a hook, he could replace it with the brass ball to prevent his sleeve from flapping about.
– We’ll try these out tomorrow. I don’t have the energy to play around tonight.
– Busy day?
– It’s a long day when there are no visitors to keep an eye on. I sometime practise writing but I’m supposed to keep an eye on things, not delve into calligraphy for amputees.
After breakfast and before morning coffee, Nathan removed Sean’s split hooks and replaced them with the big solid curvy brass hook on his left arm and the brass ring on his right. Sean immediately linked his hands. He was fairly helpless but Nathan tested it and found that, as expected, a pint glass fit into it very well. Sean could bring it up to his mouth and drink very easily. The ring was much better than his split hook for the purpose. The only disadvantage was that he could not use the inert hook on his left to lift a beer. There was always a disadvantage somewhere. He had unintentionally become reliant on Nathan who never failed to peg across to his assistance. Nathan announced that he liked the way Sean looked.
– Keep those on, Sean. It makes you look really horny, especially with that big hook.
– Alright, I will.
– Just to make life more interesting, I want you to help me change my peg legs in a minute. Let’s see if you’re any use.
– Well, I would be if…
– No! You have to use what you’re wearing.
– Oh shit.
Nathan took his tiny peg legs off and asked Sean to fetch the longer pair. They were on the other side of the room. Sean used his logic and knocked them both to the floor. He threaded his ring along the peg leg’s shaft, held it in place with the large hook and dropped it on the bed next to Nathan. And repeated his actions. Nathan was impressed.
– You’re pretty good with those. Maybe you could use them at work.
– The only thing I need at work is a hand with the index finger pointing. Then when someone asks where the toilets are, I can just point.
–Very true. I’ll make you one and you can just lift it up.
It was easier now to jest about Sean’s hooks. He had become inured to them and recovered from his depression at becoming handless. He was adept enough already to realise what he could not expect his hooks to do and was learning to work out alternate ways of achieving what he wanted. He did not regret his amputations and was still enchanted with his steel hooks. It was a short interim period when he was learning his limitations, learning his disability, and determined enough to try and keep trying until he persuaded his unfeeling hooks to do his will. He had lost his hands and gained his hooks. And now, with a primitive curly brass hook and a ring for holding beer glasses, he had still managed to do something useful for his friend.
– I’m going to the shops. Anything you want?
– Are we having cocktails tonight?
– Don’t know. I’ll get a couple of bottles just in case.
– OK. Get a vodka and a gin.
– Yup.
Nathan threw his backpack over his shoulders and teetered on his longer pegs towards the door. He grabbed a short walking stick and left. Sean was left looking at his deviant attachments and returned to the living room to check his messages. To his great disappointment, he found that his phone screen did not work with a brass hook. But the tv remote did. With extreme precision, he succeeded in finding a news channel and consoled himself that Nathan would be away for two hour tops. He linked his big hook through his ring and sat back to watch footage of the latest winter flooding.
Taylor and Jack had recovered from their excitement. Taylor swung himself up into his wheelchair while Jack insisted that he would stay on the floor in his new socket for the rest of the day. Taylor made coffee and took some frozen lasagne from the freezer to defrost.
– Do you want to show your stumps off to Nathan and Sean or is it too soon?
– Too soon for what?
– Too soon for cocktails.
– Oh, go on then.
Taylor tapped out a brief message to Nathan. cocktails at 7? Nathan was pushing a trolley and heard the message arrive but it was too inconvenient to reply immediately. After a few minutes, he found a quiet corner by the eggs and leaned against the wall. He looked at his message and replied.
– great! c u
He pushed his oversized trolley towards the drinks and added what Sean had suggested to it.
Before they went upstairs to join their friends, Sean asked Nathan to transfer the ring to his left arm and replace the right split hook. It had been an entertaining few hours but Sean missed being able to do anything for himself. Still, the ring promised to be useful later. Once a glass of beer was lifted into it, it was there for the duration. He just had to be careful not to angle his arm so the liquid spilled. Nathan swapped his peg legs for his minimalist stubbies, which were themselves mere stubs of pylons with ferrules attached.
– Are you ready now, Sean?
– All set. Remember the key.
Nathan tottered to the lift and called it. Sean pulled the door open and they rose to the top floor. He rapped on Taylor’s door, expecting to see him standing at his normal height and greeting each other face to face. Instead, it opened to reveal a half-man in a hoodie with shiny leg stumps.
– Hi! Come in, come in.
– Wow! What happened to you?
– Our monocoques arrived so we’re trying them out. Go and see Jack.
Jack was sitting on the sofa in a T-shirt exposing identical stumps. He had started on a beer and raised it.
– Welcome! Good to see you’ve decided to join us, Nathan. Your cousin has done a brilliant job.
As Nathan and Sean found seats, Jack tipped himself down from the sofa and demonstrated how he walked in his gleaming blue shell. He twisted himself around to face them and rested his hands on his artificial stumps.
– How do you like that, Nathan? I reckon you could ask your cousin to make you one.
– How much did he charge you?
– A thousand two hundred each.
– That’s a bit steep. Not as much as I thought, though. Taylor, how do you feel about yours?
– I put mine on and ejaculated. That’s how I feel about it.
– Ha! In that case, I’ll have to get one.
Sean was kept busy during the evening. Having legs, he was responsible for fetching fresh cans of beer at regular intervals. Taylor steered the conversation around to amputation.
– I really like being this rigid stump. I love the way I can move on it, the way it balances and the way the curved base makes it feel so secure and safe.
– I think so too. And I love having the leg stumps on mine. I’ve never had stumps before, you see.
– So I have been thinking about adopting the monocoque permanently. Using it always, everywhere. And that sparked the idea that I would not need my pathetic little leg stumps any longer. I could have them disarticulated like Jack’s. We’d be identically legless in our monocoques.
– I don’t know, Taylor. If you can use the monocoque now with your stumps intact, what would be the point of amputating them?
– It’s a matter of solidarity with Jack. We’ve already decided we’re going to be together from now on so it would be great if we both have torso stumps. You’ve seen how well Jack gets around in his shoe. And if we want to be a bit taller, we can use wheelchairs just as easily.
– You’ve certainly given this some thought. I wouldn’t want to lose my stumps because I love walking on peg legs. But it would be great if the three of us could be together in the same torso sockets.
– With frontal stumpage.
– Exactly. How do you pee, out of interest?
– Have to take the front half off to access the tackle. It’s not difficult.
Sean demonstrated his brass ring but unfortunately Taylor and Jack had no beer glasses which would fit it. Sean managed well enough with the split hook on his short right arm. They complimented him on his increasing prowess and Sean admitted that he was more content recently to confront his disability. He had become proficient enough with his hooks to regard new challenges as something he was confident he could deal with. To an increasing degree, he accepted his hooks as part of himself. He felt naked when he removed them at the end of the day and loved the cool enveloping sensation along his stumps when he donned the sockets again the next morning. And it had been fun playing around with the odd attachments earlier in the day. Taylor admitted that he had been personally worried that Sean might not appreciate becoming a bilateral amputee, that it would be too great a transition, but he was impressed by Sean’s progress and admitted that he enjoyed seeing the uniformed guard patrolling Brunel Park House with his short arms and steel hooks.
– – – – – – -
The New Year and beyond
A new professor joined Brunel Park at the beginning of the spring term. His arrival coincided with Taylor’s first trial at managing a working day from a wheelchair and wearing the monocoque. The professor stood tall on one leg, supported by well-worn wooden axillary crutches. Unusually for a new staff member, there was no-one in the entrance hall to meet him. Sean wished him Good morning and asked if he was expecting to meet someone.
– Well, I’m joining the staff, you see. I’m beginning to suspect that I’m an hour early.
– Would you like me to show you to the staff room? It’s on the second floor. There should be other staff members there by now. They usually use the rear entrance, you see. The lift is there.
– I think I can manage the stairs this one time.
Sean checked that his desk was secure and escorted the heavily bearded bald newcomer to the staircase and watched him lean heavily on his crutches. Sean knew enough about leg amputees to quickly realise that the professor’s leg was a prosthesis. There was no evidence of a stump on the opposing side. As far as he knew, this man was the first disabled staff member. His progress was slow but regular. He was obviously used to negotiating stairs.
Sean knocked on the staff room door and opened it for the professor, who swung himself in and thanked Sean. He returned to his desk and raised a hook in greeting to arriving students. The professor found himself with only Taylor for company. They introduced themselves and explained their rôles at Brunel Park. Inevitably, talk turned to their leglessness and the professor explained that he had a short thigh stump but had used a prosthesis for thirty-five years. Taylor revealed that he was trialling a new torso socket and had never used a wheelchair at work before.
– I have two rather short stumps and usually use two artificial legs. At home, I often wear stubbies. This monocoque is new.
– How do you like it so far?
– I like it very much. It feels very secure and I can scoot about quite well on my hands.
– I have something similar in my digs. It has only one stump, of course, which I can use to stabilise myself. I wonder if I could use it here? If this is your first day in a wheelchair, I’d be interested to hear your impressions. I may prefer to wear my socket at times.
– I’d be interested in seeing it. I don’t see any reason why amputees should not use any devices which are of use to them.
– Precisely.
They chatted while Taylor brewed a pot of coffee. Other staff members gradually arrived and introductions were made. The professor would be introducing a new course at Brunel Park on molecular biology and gene-manipulation.
– – – – – – -
Sean slowly furnished his flat. It was mainly useful as a repository for his clothes. He toured department stores, testing their crockery and glassware, checking that he could handle them with his standard hooks. It was increasingly rare for him to spend a night in his own flat. He and Nathan got on too well together to want to be apart for long. Nathan waited nearly six weeks after Taylor and Jack got their monocoques before he contacted his cousin about getting one for himself. His cousin laughed at him and said he had guessed that he would want his own. Within the month, Nathan too became a rigid torso stump. He wanted to feel more disabled than his neighbours and designed his monocoque so that his minimal stumps pointed upwards and outwards. The base had a small flat area on which Nathan learned to balance but his monocoque was unstable. As had happened with Taylor, Nathan found the new sensations of extreme confinement and helplessness overwhelming and he ejaculated very soon after donning it for the first time.
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Sean had a birthday and wanted to celebrate with his legless friends. He also invited the legless professor who never failed to greet him and frequently spent a few minutes discussing everything from climate chaos to stump conditioners with him. Sean held a party for four legless guests, all of whom were encased in monocoques. The professor’s was black carbon with a single short stump and a removable codpiece. He arrived in a new electric car, operated by a horizontal joystick. During the evening, he described it to Sean, who was immediately interested in seeing a vehicle he might be able to drive with hooks. The professor promised to show it to him during daylight hours. It was a two-seater. Perhaps he and Nathan could afford one. It would make their lives easier.
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Spring
Sean adopted the rôle of cashier from April fifteenth. Brunel Park was open again to the public. He had become comfortable with his amputee status and found pleasure in controlling his hooks, effortlessly making them do what he wanted. Taylor often stood beside the desk, waiting for a group to form of those guests who wished to tour the ground floor of the house. Taylor had adopted the monocoque as his permanent prosthesis and either handwalked or used his wheelchair at Brunel Park with the sole exception of the hours when he assumed the rôle of a disabled Scotsman. In all his guises, Taylor was always a quietly extrovert amputee, walking calmly on his minimalist pylons in his handsome kilt or swinging his torso energetically along the ground. He had the élan to command respect with his magnificent walrus moustache and was much admired by his friends and colleagues alike.
The two households maintained their close relationships after Sean and Nathan graduated. Nathan was granted a position in a research laboratory in North London and commuted on peg legs each day. Jack worked from home, writing and editing scientific articles for on-line and paper distribution. He too favoured his monocoque. His silicon stump sheath and the leather and rubber shoe were packed away in his closet. He appreciated his rigid torso socket and adopted a typical position with his hands gripping the empty stumps of his monocoque. He found it ironical that he had exchanged his rigid leg braces for a far greater disability which he and his three legless friends found so fulfilling.
It was also ironical that the unique policy conjured by Lady Madeleine Brunel, originally intended to help disadvantaged students, had evolved into an efficient system to produce young male student amputees far more severely disabled than the original inmates. To all intents and purposes, they were Brunel Park Gardens' crowning glories.
Brunel Park Gardens
