Cadillac Limbs

 

Cadillac limbs

Fiction by strzeka (10/24)

 

An ex–military man notates his life as a legless torso

Dedicated to my soon-to-be DAK friend in Oz

 

J A N U A R Y  3

 

This is one of those days when you can’t sit still, can’t think of anything to do, can’t bear waiting and have already drunk enough coffee to float a small armada. Today my cast will be removed at long last and Gerry will pronounce his judgment on whether my wrist is healed or not. I’m not really bothered about what he thinks at this stage. I’ve functioned one‑handed for four months, ever since I had my little accident. Which I agree was my fault entirely but you can’t blame a man for wanting a drink now and then. As far as I can tell, my arm must have healed by now. I can’t actually move it but that’s probably because of the cast. In fact, truth to tell, I can’t even feel the damn thing. I guess that’s because I’ve had a cast on for so long, it’s made my arm numb.

 

Last time, the Uber driver was really helpful. Held me by the armpits. I had a black sock over the cast so as not to call attention to it. And the skateboard slotted into the net behind my seat just fine. Then without asking, the receptionist pushed me up the ramp into the clinic by my shoulders. I felt like royalty.

 

Gerry was his usual over‑optimistic self. I suppose it goes with the territory. You get some remnant of a human as a client and have to reassure them that not only will they be able to do everything with your amazing prosthetic limbs like they always did before, they will also enjoy the experience into the bargain.

 

I don’t suppose many people feel that way. I don’t think he knows how I feel.

 

My first cast peeled away like the shell off a prawn and Gerry unwrapped the gauze. Needless to say, neither of us were impressed with the ruined flesh. My nails had grown into a spiral and almost every joint seemed to be chafed and deeply gashed, although there was no blood. I don’t like the look of that, he said, and I have to agree that it was a bit of a mess. In fact, he said, that should come off before it goes completely putrid and kills you. He stared into my eyes as if for additional emphasis or mutual agreement or something. It’s funny how prosthetists are all so predictable.

 

That was months ago. One thing led to another. I got fed up with them farting about trying to heal my stinking hand. So I had yet another cast on my arm, this time without a hand inside. I liked looking at it, strange as it may seem. The shape of it. White and rounded and hard and short. Like an arm but not. Does that make any sense? Anyway, it’s coming off as soon as I get to Gerry’s. I want to talk to him about getting a peg arm first. It could just be the ferrule off a walking stick as far as I care. Just something to let me push myself around with.

 

J A N U A R Y  5

I should have guessed. Gerry launched straight into his sales spiel about getting a bionic hand. Apparently he’s seen a model which has haptic feedback from the fingertips so you can feel what you’re touching. I felt like laughing at him. Sure, I’m definitely going to spend thirty thousand on a fake hand after going to all that trouble to get rid of my natural one. I pointed out my other disability and said that if the bionic hand can’t be used for scraping along the floor, I wasn’t interested. I’ve only ever wanted to use a hook anyway, and it doesn’t matter if it gets scratched up. Gerry reckons he can use the plaster cast he cut off my stump as the mould for a peg arm. Not exactly the most professional approach but practical. He knew exactly what I wanted and said he could provide a rubber block specifically designed for what I want. He was interested to hear my idea but reckons the small area of contact from a walking stick ferrule would require more effort from my stump and would lead to the skin breaking down. I can see that. No point in arguing. Have to wait two weeks for peg arm.

 

J A N U A R Y  17

TVSouth got in touch again full of waffle about how well my previous interview went and viewers wanted to see me again and would I come in to talk about the changes in health service policy concerning artificial limbs. That’s what they called them. I don’t know if my leather and rubber torso socket, my boot, is an artificial limb. My bucket. They don’t know yet I have a new stump. With any luck, Gerry’s rubber block will be ready before they want me back on the sofa. That won’t be a limb, either. I wonder what they really want to talk about this time. Anyone can see what the government policy will mean. I suppose they want to show a bit of patriotism again, our brave armed forces, the maimed heroes. I don’t mind, especially if they pay the same as last time. It might even be enough to pay for my new pros.

 

J A N U A R Y  18

Gerry said my peg arm will be ready by the end of the week. It’s apparently much easier to make because there are no moving parts. He wants me back again to adjust the precise angle of the block of rubber. Jesus wept.

 

J A N U A R Y  21

Another helpful Uber driver. He said he remembered seeing me on tv. That proves someone watches the TVS Morning Show. Gerry presented me with my peg arm. The fat rubber block looks well stoked and weighs the same as my hand. Scooted out of the clinic with a firm order for an artificial arm and hook. Should be ready within a month according to Gerry. It would be sooner but for all the new amps from Ukraine.

 

J A N U A R Y  23

I love my rubber block. It’s exactly the right size. I don’t have to stretch or lean over. It lets me balance perfectly on the skateboard and scoot along in the bucket. The curve of the block is exactly right. I love it! Imagine if I had two of them! But who would help me don my prossies and bucket? No point in dreaming.

 

J A N U A R Y  24

TVS want me at the studio around ten. The idea is that my interview will be taped and broadcast as an insert tomorrow or some other time when they need a bit of filler. I’ll be in the studio after today’s show is done and dusted. It gives them time to freshen up and for me to have my make‑up seen to. Last time I even got a free beard trim into the bargain but it’s much shorter now. Looks better with my bald head.

 

F E B R U A R Y  1

This morning’s Uber was in a hurry. He started moving before I’d even tightened my seat belt and I almost went flying. But he was helpful outside TVS and made sure I was properly balanced on my skateboard before he drove off. The show was still going out when I arrived so I was wheeled straight into make‑up where I met the other guest who would be on with me. I didn’t know there was going to be anyone else. I don’t see why it was a secret. But, inevitably I suppose, Cy and me both stared at each other like we’d never seen a bloke without legs before and burst out laughing at the incongruity of it. The only difference between us was the length of our beards and Cy’s bucket is a carbon fibre jobbie. He uses exactly the same kind of peg arm thingies as me, but on both his stumps, naturally. That’s when he’s on a skateboard. Today he was using an electric wheelchair. Instead of asking each other all the usual questions there and then, we agreed to wait until after our interviews and go for lunch somewhere to pump each other for answers.

 

It was funny listening to Cy’s West Country accent. It’s not what you expect an angry man to sound like, but Cy really let rip. He was most upset by the longer wait times between fittings for civilian amputees. They have to make a pros last five years before they’re entitled to a new one. The only complaint I had about the new system was how military amps are usually last in the queue. We still get our gear free but trying to book a fitting is hit and miss these days.

 

Instead of going out for lunch, the hosts invited Cy and me to their lunch place for personnel. It was a buffet, not the most convenient system, but I had wiener schnitzel with fried potatoes and mangetout peas served by Jacqueline herself. Trevor seemed very interested in Cy’s prosthetics and asked a ton of intrusive questions which saved me the embarrassment of asking. They are custom made, dark brown leather with chrome decorations in the 1930s art deco style. I’ve never seen arms decorated to that degree before. I’ve seen artificial leg sockets with decorative coverings but Cy’s arms look like they were crafted by an artist. Unique stuff.

 

They were as impressed by my rubber block. Cy said he’d be up for some coaching after I get my pros, next week I hope. I definitely want to meet him again and maybe get to know him better. He seems trustworthy and level headed. I don’t want to get involved with an amputee who feels embarrassed or ashamed of himself. Civilian amputees seem to go through such a long period of mourning for a lost limb compared with servicemen who end up with a pros or two. I suppose it has to do with the way the injury happened.

 

F E B R U A R Y  2

 Our interview was edited down to eight minutes. Apart from right at the beginning when you could see we were legless, they didn’t show our buckets but Cy made sure his super leather arms were in frame when he was talking and gesturing. I was leaning on my rubber block most of the time so the camera could avoid showing it. It was fairly interesting and they got the main points. I don’t suppose our opinions will count for anything but you never know. Someone in a position to canvass on our behalf might have seen it. Stranger things have happened. Gerry texted to say he wants me at the clinic for ‘an initial fitting’ on Wednesday. I don’t know what’s initial about it. Either the thing is ready or going there is just a waste of time. It’s not easy, getting across London as a legless torso. With only one hand. Who will have a hook when he comes back! I can’t wait to have a genuine artificial arm and a steel hook at last. I’ve always wanted a hook even more than I wanted to be legless. Just recently though, I want two hooks. Cy confirmed that desire for me once and for all. Seeing him sitting there with his black socket, in his light blue short‑sleeved pullover and his beautiful leather arms on display, and his very handsome long chestnut beard, I was certain that I want to look like him, be like him.

 

F E B R U A R Y  8

It turned out that Gerry always puts ‘initial fitting’ to protect himself in case something goes wrong with an artificial limb if the client insists on taking it immediately. My arm stump is such that almost anything approximately the right length could be made to more or less fit. Gerry helped me put the arm on and I was fully erect by the time he’d finished tightening the velcro. The socket looked so sleek! I was surprised how light it was after getting used to the rubber block. Gerry wanted me to go through all his beginner’s exercises but I refused. I know how a hook works without playing around with children’s jigsaw puzzles. Gerry knows me well enough not to be offended but told me he was there to share advice if I ran into trouble. But I have Cy to help with that sort of thing. My new arm just about fit into my rucksack. It’ll be a nuisance swapping the peg arm for the hook as I scoot around but it cant be helped unless I get myself an electric wheelchair. I just don’t want to scratch the hook up. It does look good. A perfect shape to replace a hand.

 

F E B R U A R Y  22

I’m beginning to see why Cy can afford custom made art deco on his prossies. I called him and pretended I was having trouble with my pros. I was not but it was believable. Cy said he’d come round to help. The first surprise was that he arrived in an electric Microbus, white and pink with the retro V-curve on the front. I should have guessed it would be retro somehow. It matches Cy’s art deco limbs. The biggest surprise was his assistant and chauffeur and gopher, a huge muscle bound Ozzie who hardly uttered a word but who sat reading, waiting for Cy to finish going through the process of teaching me how to use my hook. I suspect even Cy knew I was only making out to be a complete clutz but he was charm himself and his assistant was good enough to heat up our lunch and serve it. Luckily there was enough for the three of us. Cy called the giant ‘Fred’ but I don’t think that’s his real name.

 

Cy was wearing a different pair of prossies. These were also leather but they were black and they had chrome go‑faster stripes along the sockets, like on a 1950s Buick. And they were a lot shorter than his other pair. The elbows were higher up and the sockets were shorter, just long enough to reach the floor. I didn’t comment on them. My own new arm is enough for me to be curious about. It feels odd not only to be missing my hand but when my pros is on, it’s like I’m completely armless. I can’t feel anything. I suppose that’s what causes it. I like it. It’s not something I expected. Another thing I didn’t realise is that I have to pay attention to my hook when I’m using it to see what I’m doing. I can’t simply reach out and grab something now without looking beforehand. I have to plan how to move the hook and make sure it’s pointing in the proper direction before opening it.

 

I was hoping that Cy would open up about how he came to not only lose both his legs but also both arms. He gives me the impression that he’s completely comfortable with his torso stump. But although he knows everything about how to use two hooks like mine, he seems awkward when he uses his own pair. I know above elbow arms are more difficult to use but even so, he ought to be able to use them better. Maybe the Buick arms are more difficult to use than the art deco pair because they’re shorter. I’d really like to see Cy’s stumps to see what he has to work with.

 

M A R C H  4

 I’m more or less living as a man with one hand. I’m reluctant to use my hook to scoot around with because I don’t want to scratch it. So I wear my peg arm for most of the time. It’s like having a plaster cast again. I can’t really use my left arm for anything except now I can shuffle around using it. I can appreciate the rounded rubber base of my bucket after seeing the rigid thing Cy prefers. It looks like he’s in a suitcase. It makes such a funny hollow noise when he shuffles along.

 

Talk of the devil! I got a text from Cy as soon as I finished writing that. He’s invited me to his flat on Saturday evening and is sending Fred to collect me in the Microbus. I’ll have the chance to ask him everything I still want to know about using a pair of artificial arms. I love having an artificial arm which hides my arm stump and I love the mechanical perfection of the hook. I still want two.

 

M A R C H  8

 Fred spoke directly to me for the first time and I discovered why he’s so quiet. He must have been born with a cleft lip and his palate was repaired somehow but it’s left him with a severe speech defect. He looked so apologetic for making me ask him to repeat just about everything he said. I don’t think he’d be able to work in the normal economy. He would be a remarkable personal trainer but no‑one would understand what he’s saying. Even so, you can hear the Australian twang when he speaks. I explained to him about needing my peg arm to walk but he said I wouldn’t need it. He would carry me anywhere until I arrived back home and I should wear my hook if I thought it would be more useful. So I did. He knelt down to let me put my arms around his neck and took me to the van piggyback style. Something tells me he’s done the same with Cy. At Cy’s place, he carried me upstairs and I had the shock of my life. Cy lives in a penthouse at the top of an office block and the entire apartment is tailored to a legless man’s every possible need. I hadn’t realised that Cy is as wealthy as he is.

 

It was easy enough to sort out. Cy’s family founded the Athlonic brand of running shoes just at the right time and have expanded into owning just about half the country’s gyms. The penthouse is at the top of their HQ. Fred is Fred’s real name and he lives with Cy as his PA. Cy is not short for Cyril or Cyrus. His name is just Cy. He has a twin brother called Russ who lives in Belfast. He was fourteen when he had his legs amputated except he lost more than he bargained for. He used the railway method but instead of losing one leg, he lost both and the air flow under the carriages spun him around so he lost both hands too. He was saved by the driver of a slow suburban train which was just approaching the location and whisked off to hospital. He had repeated infections in his leg stumps until there was nothing for it but to disarticulate both. His arm stumps healed OK and he used a pair of below elbow hooks for fifteen years. Then he booked a surgeon in Dubai and had his uneven stumps shortened to what he has now. He explained about how he uses his torso socket and how it would be difficult to use one like mine. I still have the world’s shortest stumps which I can sit and balance on but Cy has to be supported from his chest down in a rigid casing to be able to sit.

 

And yes, we did try out the sauna, and yes we did let Fred do all the work for us. It was glorious!

 

M A R C H  10

It was strange to see Cy’s torso without any sign of leg stumps. He can still imagine himself with legs but there is no movement whatsoever when he tries to kick. I can get some movement from my stumps although there’s only four or five centimetres of femur left. The surgeon knew even that tiny amount would be handy for sitting. I can balance on my arse and wear shorts but I feel more secure in my rubber bucket.

 

I was fascinated by Cy’s arm stumps. They’re cut about five centimetres short of where his elbows were and although they’re useless, they look great on him. He was leaning against a support in the sauna and gestured with both stumps. We were talking about how he came to lose his forearms and it was then that I realised what Cy surely expected me to understand hours earlier—the amputations were the result of deliberate injuries. He wanted to lose his limbs. Maybe not all of them at the same time but he is happy enough now with his lifestyle as a legless torso with the facility to use hooks. I had already drunk enough to admit that my leg stumps were also the result of an ‘accidentally on purpose’ accident gone wrong and that I had deliberately caused such a severe injury to my wrist that my hand had to be amputated. Cy suspected my hand amputation was voluntary before I admitted to it. There’s something about the different ways wannabes and accident victims react to using artificial limbs which distinguishes them. Cy reckons he can spot a voluntary leg amputee at a hundred yards.

 

We sat semi‑naked after the sauna. Just towels around us. Fred put Cy’s arms on him. Cy wears artificial arms nearly always because he says he feels disabled if he can’t even touch or nudge things. He mentioned once that he had used below elbow hooks like mine for a few years but he didn’t explain why he wanted to lose his elbows. It’s interesting to see him using his long arms and how he has to do everything in two halves—first to get the forearms where he wants them and then operating the hooks. There’s a lot of spreading his stumps and jerking them which I enjoy watching. I don’t know if I have the patience to learn to use a long artificial arm.

 

M A R C H  24

 I have thought a lot about my situation since becoming more friendly with Cy. Fred is great when he comes to pick me up, literally. With his assistance, I can keep my hook on instead of changing it for the peg arm. I feel that tingling lightness in my genitals when I see Cy kitted out in his black carbon top, scooting around with rigid artificial arms. He holds rubber blocks moulded to fit a hook properly and uses his arms like I use my peg. Needless to say, I want one too. Cy has promised to order one for me. The thing which has been on my mind, to be honest, forever, is having the courage to advance to bilateralism. To get rid of my right hand in favour of a second hook and to become a hook using torso like Cy. He is so understanding and honest. He has explained his fetish for amputations and his obsession to use artificial limbs himself. He says he wanted to try using a pair of above knee artificial legs for a few years but his injuries were too severe to allow him the stumps he lusted for. He says he progressed all the way in one step—from walking on two handsome muscular legs to a rounded stumpless torso. His scrotum was removed and his balls tucked away inside his body. Only his long dick is left below his waist. Then it was time for him to plan his conversion to bilateral. It’s funny how I start out writing about myself and immediately talk about Cy. It’s true. I can’t get him off my mind. He’s such a good friend. Clever and witty and handsome and limbless.

 

A P R I L  14

Very pleased with myself this week after hearing that one of my suggestions had been approved by the company’s AI and upper management. I sent a spreadsheet explaining my ideas along with a demo animation showing seven second streaming ads. I think they’re going to use it all and I should be due a handsome bonus. I’ve already decided that the next time I get an unexpected bonus, I’m going to use Cy’s Dubai surgeon to have both arms amputated below elbow but with short globular stumps. I want to keep my elbows but I want to use prostheses with hinges and reinforcements to make them as restrictive as possible. Just like Cy’s arms. It would be amazing if his prosthetist made a pair of leather arms for me. I don’t know how much Cy pays but they can’t be cheap.

 

A P R I L  17

I went to the office today, invited by the boss. I thought everybody knew about the disabled planner who works from home but people seemed genuinely surprised (horrified?) when I rolled up balancing on my skateboard legless as it’s possible to be. I had five minutes to wait before I went into the boss’s den, which gave me enough time to change the block for my hook. It always looks so much more professional, I think. The peg arm fits beautifully into my Boblbe‑e back pack. We started off by talking business and I was congratulated on my creativity. Then we discussed my recent additional disablement and I got to show off my hook and how it works to the whole management team who appeared to approve of my modification. Let’s see what they think a year from now when I’m a bilateral. I’m still playing with the idea of really short stumps or something a bit longer which wouldn’t necessitate all the mechanical restrictions. I might be able to slip my stumps out of the sockets if they were a very precise length.

 

J U L Y  21

With one thing and another, three months have passed. Cy not only gave me his full support, he also bought tickets for both of us and paid for the Dubai surgeon. It was like staying in the most luxurious hotel possible. Everything was done for me at my slightest whim and none of the staff showed any sign of shock at seeing my disabled body. The surgeon noted that I had two minimal leg stumps and asked if I was satisfied to keep them. He made me an offer to remove them giving me the same configuration as Cy. I’d also need a rigid socket to hold me upright. The doctor called it a carapace. It’s what insects have around their bodies. It seems an apt name. My arms are going to look fairly insectile as well. I’ll need new prostheses, which naturally I mentioned. Cy interrupted and said that was taken care of. He had already reserved an appointment for me to be fitted with a pair of leather artificial arms. Looking at the catalogue, I fell in love with a pair of ivory and chrome arms which look like they came off a 1960 Cadillac. The arms were for an above‑elbow amputee, whose expression in the photo looked like the cat who got the cream. Such a manly smirk on his face. That was the moment I decided to go above‑elbow. Cy was surprised but gave me his full support. The surgeon was of the opinion it was the correct decision regarding future prosthetic applications and so I returned from Dubai nine weeks later without my meagre leg stumps. My entire lower body is now one stump. I try to move my legs but there is nothing to move although I can feel them in my mind. Now I know how Cy feels. I have a hard‑on half the time. I’ve cum so often imagining myself using my old legs when I can only sense the flat warm surfaces of my stumpless hips. I feel compelled to touch my newly shaped lower body but I have no hands to do so. My arm stumps are far too short to reach the stump of my body. I thrash them around to maintain balance when I practise sitting. Needless to say, I have not been online. Work does not know of my amputations. I should inform them somehow. It will not be easy. My new arms are beautiful works of art in two tone leather, tan and ivory, with chrome‑plated mock louvres and steel reinforcements. I have a variety of hooks to choose from, a set of standard, symmetrical and worker hooks and a pair of rubberised claws which I wear when I sit on my skateboard. They have a thick rubber shell on them to protect the mechanism. Skating has become difficult for me. I had not realised how much I depended on the slight movements of my short stumps to balance myself as I rolled along. Now I have nothing but the senseless flat base of my carapace and I have little movement from my shoulders when I am wearing my arms. I really am severly disabled. I strain to move my legs or to stretch my arms but there is no movement, only the internal lightness in my groin to acknowledge my prosthetic helplessness.

 

J U L Y  31

Fred was offered a decent pay increase on condition he take care of two legless torsos and he agreed. Cy was generous in making his home available to me and Fred rearranged his gym room so I can have a corner with a couple of shelves within reach of my hooks so I have privacy when I am working on confidential material. Both Cy and I respect each other’s space during working hours. We have work to be done and other people rely on us. Limblessness is no reason to fail the company. We want to be amputees not burdens on society.

 

A U G U S T  8

Cy was talking to another hip disart guy at the prosthetist’s place. His name is Steve FitzPatrick and he has the gingerest hair and the biggest fluffiest red beard I’ve ever seen. He walks with axillary crutches, the long wooden sort, and lifts his rigid legs to swing them forward at each step. Providing the road is flat, he can get along at a decent clip. The legs are just rigid things built into his carapace. When he wants to walk, someone had to lower him into the socket and hand him his crutches. Steve has both arms so crutching around is easy for him. Cy has decided he wants a pair of crutches to fit onto his stumps to discover what it’s like to be mobile again on some kind of legs after nearly twenty years as a stump. And if he can do it, so can I! But I’m willing to let Cy experiment first. We would both need brand new prostheses with built‑in legs. It’s great being able to choose how tall you want to be and what sort of legs you want to have. If I get my way, I’m going to have prominently bandy legs, but really muscle‑bound.

 

O C T O B E R  17

I’m expecting an invitation to the company’s Christmas party. They’re always avec and I can’t wait to see their expressions when I turn up with Cy. He’ll be on his tall legs, and I’ll have to row myself in on my skateboard from the outer lobby. Fred will place my shell on my skateboard and hold my sheathes while I slot my hooks into them. After that impressive entrance, it will be simple to release the rubber sheathes and carry on with my sleek art deco arms.

 

I can finally start making entries again using a pen. That’s why there’s a big gap. I was learning how to write again. Cy encouraged me to keep at it. I was ready to stop after the first two weeks of getting nowhere but Cy reckoned that as I get more used to using my hooks in daily life around the apartment, I’d find it easier to manipulate them with the control necessary for writing. Or printing. I print individual letters rather than cursive. That would be asking too much. I’m very proud of my writing skill. I was wise to choose such long stumps. They are too long to let me feed myself efficiently but they are useful for dressing and for writing.

 

O C T O B E R  22

Cy keeps asking when I intend getting my own set of peg legs and peg arms. He is becoming skilful at walking on his artificial legs, although they don’t exactly move in any way. They are extensions of his torso socket. He’s learned to lift himself carefully on his aluminium crutches which he slides his stumps into. He has only once said he wishes he had longer stumps, like mine. It was strange of him to say so because I know how much he revels in his disability and the restrictions which his amputations pose for using artificial limbs. His artificial arms and mine are both made by the same man and they weigh the same. But these days, I use them better than Cy. It’s because of his short stumps.

 

Cy announced that Gerry has agreed to make my legs but insists that I learn to walk on a standard pair of cylindrical stubbies before he agrees to start experimenting with bowed legs and other deformities. I happened to mention that it would be cool to wear callipers over a pair of jeans, clipped into a pair of butch‑looking boots. Great thick soles, real crippled stuff. And I’m going to have the same kind of crutches as Cy.

 

O C T O B E R  23

In bed last night, Cy whispered that he wants the two of us to learn to walk well enough by next summer to manage a trip around the country. Fred as chauffeur and personal assistant, naturally. I suggested we invite Steve FitzPatrick to join us. I don’t know whether he’s free to. He might be married or something. Cy reckons three legless torsos will fit just fine into the back of the van and if Steve can drive, maybe Fred could sit with Cy and me in the back for a break now and then.

 

O C T O B E R  31

First fitting of my new socket with legs. Gerry wasn’t joking that the first pair wouldn’t look like legs. Once I’m lifted into the socket, I’m thirty‑five centimetres taller with two cylindrical legs fifteen centimetres thick each end of the socket. Nothing natural about them but I feel steady on the legs. The black carbon socket looks shocking but it’ll look better with a pair of footer shorts. Gerry has warned me about balance, tipping points, angular momentum, and the risk of damaging my Cadillac arms if I try using them to hold me upright. He recommends me to change my arms for crutches when I want to be mobile. I can understand his point of view. I am having two sets of peg arms made. One pair will match my cylindrical peg legs and the other pair is when I’m wearing my leather and rubber boot. A much shorter pair. Cy uses his quite often. It will be fun for the two of us to stump around the apartment on our stump boots with our arms transformed into aluminium crutches. Cy often has to stop. He tilts his heads back and groans. It’s not because he’s in pain or too tired. He’s climaxing from the joy of feeling the absence of limbs and the sensation of no sensation! My torso stump is very sensitive and sends waves of pleasure into my genitals when I use my boot. Not so much on my stubbies. And Cy loved his peg arms more than I do. I use my artificial arms and hooks much better than Cy these days. That’s something which also brings me a great deal of pleasure but more emotional than physical. I get pleasure from watching my body stretching and shrugging as I use my hooks, never being able to feel anything except the constant pressure of the socket holding my arms onto my stumps and the weight across my shoulders.

 

Gerry wants to adjust the angle of the rubber slab on the base of the peg legs before letting me have my new equipment. He told me to be sure to bring my backpack next visit. Sounds like he means to see me walking out of his lab on peg arms!

 

N O V E M B E R  6

Fred came with me, just in case. He and Jerry have met many times and Fred was allowed to sit in the lab watching the proceedings. First of all I tested both pairs of crutches. I managed to move a short distance using the shorter ones. They are not straight like I imagined. They curve down from my stumps to the floor so I don’t need to hold my stumps so close to my body. But the longer pair are almost straight. They are perfectly proportioned. The socket at the top blends in beautifully with the tubular crutch and the fat ferrules look like exclamation marks next to my fat stubby legs. I had to squirm around to find the best take‑off position, to position the tips of my peg arms in just the right spot, but after that it was plain sailing. The new torso socket fits exactly right, just as well as my boot, and the fat rigid legs swing along at exactly the right height and at the right angle to lower myself onto. Gerry has done a good job on these and I forgive him for wanting me to attend so many fittings. My Cadillac arms went into the Boblbe-E wih the hooks poking out the top but I can’t close it. Fred carried my short peg arms and boot. The long peg arms would be easier to use if I still had my elbows. I admit I looked pathetic when I struggled to lift my black cylinder legs over the sill of the exit door but I am a novice and being so limbless and under pressure is an added boost. I urged my legs to hurry myself along but the only result was the electric jingle‑jangle in the abandoned nerve endings in my groin. My arms felt invincible, twenty centimetres of stump reinforced with carbon fibre sockets. The ferrules dampen sensation.

 

N O V E M B E R  11

 Cy thinks I should stay on stubbies permanently. He loves the new proportion of my body. He says my stubs are exactly the right length for the rest of my body and echo the length of my arm stumps when I am not wearing prostheses. He has an idea which I also find intriguing but we shall have to do so research first. He wants to see me wearing a pair of arms on my stumps which are only as long as my natural arms were to the elbow. I would have hooks at the end of short AE sockets. Or if they were artificially longer sockets, I would be able to write and type with them, which, considering how much time I spend working and doing exactly that, is not a bad idea. Two short rigid arms. My stumps extended to end in—what? Hooks? Artificial rubber hands? Hooks would let me hold a pen. And I prefer the look of hooks over rubber hands. Imagine having to go through life with only a pair of rigid prosthetic arms terminating in hooks! You would be so helpless. You would be disabled beyond what any sane man could bear. And I can have it for myself. I only have to ask Fred to put suitable protheses on me. If it weren’t for the fact that Fred lives with us and that we both rely on him, I would say that I love Fred and would like to spend the rest of my life in his company. But again, that’s the way it is. It’s like we’ve already achieved everything we could ever want. Erotic leglessness, irreparable permanent upper limb disability forcing us to rely on prosthetic arms, beautifully designed and customised for us of the best materials to give us the greatest visual pleasure. Cy’s brown leather arms with the art deco designs are a wonderful sight to see and they suit his style so well. I know he loves my Cadillac arms as much as I do.

 

N O V E M B E R  20

Apparently the company’s annual shenanigans will be held at the Adlon. The ceo has an important message which will be revealed and the posh venue is because of a record breaking year. Good news! A big return for shareholders. I wonder how I will use any extra cash which comes in? Extra long stump extensions, perhaps? A golden ferrule? I have accepted their invitation with avec and asked if there is a space for our personal assistant. Fred deserves a good meal on the town. Especially since he will have to extract us from our legged sockets and help us worm our way into our torso stump boots so we can balance on chairs,  and swap our peg arms for hooks. We could hardly expect any of the regular staff to be willing to handle our prosthetic limbs and stumps. I do not believe there are any devotees on the staff.

 

N O V E M B E R  27

I don’t feel bad after yesterday’s celebrations. The ceo spoke for forty minutes and showed us both this year’s spectacular progress and the targets for next year. Everyone is being awarded a thirteenth month’s wages as thanks. I’m sure I can find a good use for the money. I have been thinking about a pair of mechanical hands which I can cover in silicon gloves. I have not used fake hands before but I think they might be just as suitable for work as my hooks. The only thing which deters me is the fact that I would definitely need to change from hooks to hands at least twice a day and it’s a burden on Fred and next to impossible for me—or to speak the truth, it would take me too long. So the only way I’ll adopt fake hands is if I have a complete new set of arms made, harness, sockets, the lot. Then all I need to do to swap over is to shuck one pair and don the other. And I might get myself a super new pair of leather sockets into the bargain.

 

D E C E M B E R  6

Found out that Steve F is a bachelor and lives in a bungalow in Esher opposite the station. Cy suggested that I call him to ask if he had any interest in joining us on our prospective tour of the country next summer. He sounded very enthusiastic at being included in anything we had planned and something he said made such an impression on me that I repeated it to Cy. It was simply that he was ignored when his friends and colleagues planned any kind of activities because they either assumed Steve would not be interested or didn’t want a legless guy on crutches slowing them down.

 

So we’ve decided to invite him to stay overnight at xmas if he wants. Fred said the more the merrier, but Steve is different on his long legs. You would never know he is completely legless even though his legs remain parallel as he swings himself along and his ankles never bend. Is FitzPatrick a Scottish name or is it Irish? I wonder what he would look like in a kilt? Ha! I wonder what I would look like in a kilt. Just imagine if the three of us toured Scotland next summer wearing kilts over carbon fibre legs and stubbies. It’s quite a horny idea. I’m going to bring it up when we’re planning our trip.

 

D E C E M B E R  11

It’s been a month since I got my stubbies and I’ve worn them every day for most of that time. I remove them only when Fred takes us somewhere in the car and even then, I’ve sometimes worn the stubbies and lain horizontal on the back seat with my crutches on the floor. It’s easy enough to get me vertical again and slot the sockets onto my arm stumps at our destination and go about our business. I feel disabled in quite a different way these days. Being able to actually use legs again makes me feel less disabled as far as mobility is concerned but of course, I cannot wear my arms when I’m using my crutches. My stumps are long enough to let me hold a drink or to stuff a hamburger into my mouth but I usually let Fred feed me, which saves the trouble of removing the stump socks and liners in public. I have a pair of black army surplus shorts which I wear over my stubbies. In this weather, I usually make do with a hoodie over a T-shirt. All my hoodies have been altered to show off my artificial forearms and hooks. Short‑sleeved hoodies are more convenient with the crutches too. It is still a shocking sight to see two aluminium crutch pylons extending from my sleeves instead of any kind of arms but I feel complete on my rigid little legs, more so than sliding around at floor level in my boot. It’s a schizophrenic sort of life. It’s as if I were two different people. One can walk, the other is completely legless but uses bilateral hooks. The new voice‑activated software we ordered for my laptop lets me work just as efficiently as ever. It saves a lot of time when I don’t absolutely have to don hooks to operate the machine. As part of the company celebrations this year, the company is closing from the fifteenth to January five. I have a new project underway. It’s a fine feeling to work voluntarily on something interesting even during a holiday. It would be useful to have access to the keyboard sometimes in order to use a few special shortcuts but I can manage fine without.

 

D E C E M B E R  12

Fred will collect Steve on the twentieth and he’ll be with us for at least a week. I’m interested in seeing how Steve gets by in a domestic environment. I know he uses his long legs in public and is never seen in his boot. I just wonder what he does at home. Does he use a wheelchair? Cy has adopted wheelchair use as the norm at home but it’s not something I want for myself. I enjoy the challenges of leglessness too much to want to negate them by simply wheeling myself around. I love the effort which my non‑existent legs exert around my reformed glutes giving me constant erotic stimulation. I simply grip the rubber walking blocks with my hooks and stump my way around the flat. I no longer have the muscle to launch myself into a chair but I can crawl up onto the sofa with my hooks easily enough. There’s another bash at the office on the fifteenth but I think I’ll give it a miss. Cy and Fred are planning on going Christmas shopping and might take me with them if I ask nicely.

 

That’s strange. They’re up to something. Cy said he needed to shop alone. I bet he wants to buy me a present without me guessing what it is beforehand. That must be it. Also, it makes it easier for Fred if he doesn’t have to tend to two legless guys simultaneously in public. And if Fred has the car, I’d rather stay home. Legless with peg arms is not the most convenient way to travel on public transport during the build‑up to xmas.

 

D E C E M B E R  20

Fred made sure we had everything we needed for a few hours and drove off to fetch Steve. Cy and Steve have arranged some kind of agenda meaning that Steve should not need his wheelchair (he does have one after all) and will arrive wearing a boot and carrying his stump boot and legs combo. Since he is our guest, Steve should not need to worry about such problems anyway. Fred pointed out that the fact that Steve has hands means that half the things Fred does for us are not necessary in Steve’s case anyway, which is true enough, I suppose. I hope he was not insinuating that Cy and I are not efficient and skilful hook users.

 

Steve’s plastic legs are a good disguise and when he is standing still, he looks like any other bearded redhead. But his gait is fantastic. The legs keep their slightly wide stance, the feet remain completely rigid inside his boots and his body swings at the same angle as his legs. It’s a stunning way to get around and I feel envious of his nonchalant style. My short stubby legs are a joke compared with Steve’s limbs and force me to ditch my beautiful artificial arms for nondescript crutches. I don’t mind having peg arms. They only add to my enjoyment but I am sorry to lose my stylish leather arms.

 

D E C E M B E R  22

Another shopping trip to which I am invited. We left Steve at home and drove by the prosthetist’s clinic first. Cy wanted to leave his old pair of carbon arms to be refitted with a new elbow mechanism which can be locked in position. I lay in the back seat for ten minutes feeling abandoned. It reinforces my sensation of disability to be held so firmly by my torso socket. There is no way I could push myself up with my arm stumps. It doesn’t stop me from trying though—the effort of firing muscles in my minuscule leg stumps never fails to give me pleasure. Cy had arranged for a shopping assistant to accompany us on a tour around the entire mall for three hours and we were joined by a very accommodating young guy who greeted us as if we were old friends. He had very thick lenses in his glasses and it was difficult to judge exactly where he was looking. Very long‑sighted, I should say. I think if I needed glasses which altered my appearance to that degree, I’d choose dark lenses like on sunglasses. When you think about it, being so long‑sighted is quite a disability in itself. Anyway, he was attendant and efficient and made shopping a pleasure. I bought a few items for Cy and Fred, clothing, nothing special.

 

D E C E M B E R  23

We tested the booze yesterday evening and maybe had one too many. Two too many. It was fun. Since Cy and me became so completely limbless, we rarely indulge. We never go out drinking, never go into pubs and rarely have anything stronger than a couple of lagers at home. Maybe it’s Steve’s Irish roots which encouraged him to suggest we try a bottle of whiskey. We started out discussing plans for next summer’s grand tour. Steve used Fred’s AA atlas to point out places he had visited which he knew could cope with guests with disabilities like ours and made notes on things we suggested we might like to see and do. After a while, we decided it would be a very good idea if Steve and I left our legs at home and relied solely on our rubber boots. Cy agreed even though he rarely walks on his stump any longer. He would need his peg arms almost exclusively but Steve assured Fred that he would gladly take responsibility for assisting Cy when Cy had no hooks. After a couple more drinks, everyone thought it would be an excellent idea to compare the smoothness of the Irish whiskey with the Scottish variant, more strident and more of a man’s drink. I think Steve was so enamoured by watching the two of us wielding our prosthetic limbs to raise a glass of whisky to our lips that he encouraged us to keep having refills. I know he loves our arms, both pairs. Cy’s brown art deco leather always looks spectacular, so dignified, and my ivory Cadillac arms are smart in the style of early Sixties automotion. Fortunately for both of us holding expensive whiskies between our steely fingers, we both succeeded in raising our glasses to drink which when you think about it is quite an achievement for two guys without elbows.

 

This morning we all slept very late and rose about noon. Breakfast was black coffee and a hair of the dog. No-one felt like eating lunch but later everyone got the munchies and we ordered a family sized pizza which hit the spot. The half empty bottle of Scotch is still on the table but no-one wants to indulge this evening.

 

D E C E M B E R  27

First entry using my new worker’s hooks. Cy’s xmas present. The new arms were gift‑wrapped so I could open them using my Cadillac hooks. We waited patiently until Steve had showered and dressed in highland costume. Fred lifted him into his legs and helped him dress in a frilly shirt, green tartan kilt with a black leather sporran and white woollen socks on his carbon legs, over which he wore a pair of short Doc Martens. Fred came out of the bathroom grinning so Cy and I knew something unusual was about to happen. Steve looked magnificent crutching carefully towards us, his kilt swinging suggestively. There was no need to wonder what he wore under his kilt. His legs, what we could see of them, are a vaguely natural shape but without any suggestion of knees. His boots have soft soles so he moved silently on his tall wooden crutches and came to rest opposite the two torsos balancing on the sofa, hooks at the ready. Fred returned from our bedroom where Steve’s suitcase was and handed him the oblong box which contained Steve’s gift to us. Steve lifted himself a little closer to us, accepted the package from Fred and handed it to Cy. As I guessed, it was another bottle of excellent Irish whiskey. I have to admit I prefer the smoother taste. This was an unknown distiller, Mac Giolla Phàdraig. Steve says it is a small privately owned distillery which he favours because there is some kind of family connection from centuries ago and that the name is the Celtic spelling of the name FitzPatrick.

 

It feels grand to type on the keyboard using my new arms. Much easier than I had expected and the upper body workout I am getting is doing me good.

 

Cy had connived behind my back and persuaded Gerry to manufacture the new set of arms to his specifications in time for xmas and the man delivered. The new sockets are deep glossy red and have three chrome chevrons facing outwards on each side where the control cables can’t scratch them. The tips are flat to accept the steel connectors which hold a pair of worker’s hooks. I think they are ugly objects but they are supremely well suited for my purposes. The long fingers make typing easier because they don’t obstruct my view of the keyboard. The most noticeable thing about them is that the hooks are attached to the sockets without any lower arm. For the first time since I lost my elbows, I have a pair of prostheses without the two phase hook operation. Now when I shrug, the hook opens where my elbows used to be. I look a little robotic but the glorious colour detracts from that. Being legless, I can sit very close to my laptop and the immediately responsive motion of the hooks lets me tap away more quickly and more accurately than with the Cadillac limbs. Needless to say, they are not suitable for use with my pegs or rubber blocks but I don’t find that a disadvantage. These are my writing arms, my typing hooks.

 

Cy and Steve were grateful for my meagre offerings. I feel very lucky to have three pairs of prosthetic arms and a pair of peg arms for use with my stubby legs.

 

I kept the arms on until lunchtime. They make me severely disabled. I am unable to walk in my boot because the hooks don’t reach the floor so I can’t heave myself around. I’m stuck in one spot where Fred places me. I can’t feed myself or bring a drink to my lips because there are no elbows. I can thrash my tiny leg stumps and sense the movement inside the confines of my boot but however much I strain, the only result is an increasingly powerful sense of helplessness, which is an enormous turn‑on as always. The ugly hooks look even worse when I open them. They seem to be like steel teeth on a fictional monster. I like the sound they make when they snap shut. Having the harness around my back and sockets on my stumps had always meant that I am an able amputee again until now. The same physical operations lead to nothing practical. This is the degree of disablement which excites me the most—being kitted out in prostheses which are still useless. I had to shuck my new arms for the Cadillac limbs to eat lunch but put them on again later to write this entry.

 

D E C E M B E R  30

Steve left after breakfast, promising to stay in touch. He showed us how he can fit his legs into a suitcase. There’s a joint halfway down and the lower legs can be unscrewed. It also means he can attach much shorter bases to his legs so he can use the same socket while using stubbies very much like my own, although my entire socket is one piece. It gives me the idea that maybe I can have my stubbies adapted to accept different length pylons. I don’t mind looking like I have a couple of steel peg legs if they make me taller. My peg arms are already adaptable that way. Anyway, Steve left wearing his rubber boot, towing his suitcase from a belt around his waist. His very masculine face with its long red beard and yes, I am envious, makes him look much more dignified as a completely legless man. Having arms is a great advantage for him. Just as having postbox red typing hooks and Cadillac limbs is for me.

 

 

Cadillac limbs