THE TRAIN NOW ARRIVING

 

THE TRAIN NOW ARRIVING

Fiction by strzeka (10/25)

 

DIARY

 

Yesterday was my twenty‑first birthday. It was also my tenth ampuversary. That’s the name they call the anniversary of your amputation. If you have more than one done at different times, you could have two or three ampuversaries. But you can’t have more than one birthday. Anyway, it’s time for me to move out of the orphanage and into my new flat which actually is new. It’s on the fourteenth floor of a block twenty‑two stories high. It has a bedroom, a living room and kitchen combo and a big bathroom specially outfitted for a guy like me with only one leg. I’m just waiting for the superintendent to bring the van around. I don’t have a lot of stuff to move,

 

And now I have my independence, I’m going to act on my desires and try for my second amputation. The way I think of it, I’ve had my tin leg for ten years and can walk on it as well as if it was flesh and blood. So if the other one came off, I could carry on using the tin leg with crutches and everyone would still think I’m just one‑legged, which is all they’ve known me as anyway.

 

You might think it’s crazy to want to be legless. Au contraire, mon frère. I really love having a stump. All my friends like seeing it and they enjoy watching me putting my tin leg on too. And on the occasions I’ve fucked, my stump is usually the main thing my boyfriend wants to play with. I enjoy it too. It feels really nice when someone plays with it. It makes me horny. Hornier. If I had two stumps, I could either have another tin leg to match the old one or some kind of peg leg. I’ve had peg legs before, when I was still just a kid. Just after my parents died. Just after the accident, I mean. It’s really great walking on a peg leg. It’s so light and no effort at all, not like most tin legs. The only thing is that they don’t bend so when you sit down, it sticks out in front of you.

 

I don’t really remember the accident. Only what other people have told me and I don’t think they tell me the whole story. I suppose if a kid loses a leg and his parents all in a split second, you wouldn’t go into all the gory details. I used to miss my mum and dad but I was distracted by my new stump and my first peg leg. They gave it to me as my first artificial leg on a temporary basis but I liked it so much that I never gave it back. It’s packed up with my stuff right now. One of the few things I still have from those days that I can call my own. But best of all is knowing that I have an appointment with a prosthetist next week, a new guy, and someone said he’s much younger than the bloke I used to see. He was alright though. He let me order my tin leg. It’s not really tin. It’s aluminium. All legs used to be made of it at one time but then they started making them of separate components so the knowledge of how to turn a metal cylinder into something like a teenage boy’s leg was lost. Only a few people know how to do it now. I really appreciate it. It looks and sounds different from all my other fake legs. And I know other amputee kids are jealous.  Anyway, that’s why having two stumps and two tin legs would be just about the best thing I can think of.

 

The other leg I use most often is my newest peg leg. They know at the clinic that I know how to walk on one. Like I said, it was my first artificial leg after the accident and in a way it came to be a kind of link to my old self, to the boy who had two legs and two parents. The matron at the orphanage was very concerned about me appearing so crippled but I didn’t mind. I’ve never been self‑conscious about being an amputee. What’s the point? You can’t hide away somewhere and never go out to meet people, even if you’re just a kid and only have one leg. My friends at the orphanage used to stare at first because they’d never seen someone like me before but they soon got used to seeing me and never stared after that. It was only when we started to get a bit older, when we started having to shave, that a couple of my mates began to show an interest in my peg and stump again but this time, they wanted me to let them feel my stump. It’s funny how some people really love it. I don’t mind. Like I said, it feels really good when someone else strokes it or just holds it between their hands.

 

I use the peg leg at weekends these days, at least, I have done at the orphanage. I don’t know what I’m going to do in my own flat. I suppose I can do whatever I want. Use my peg or my tin leg or go without and just use crutches. None of them make any noise so I don’t need to worry about the downstairs neighbour banging on the ceiling. The super and I have been shopping this week for some furniture for me. We got special permission for access to the flat. We bought some stuff from Ikea and the super helped me put them up with his electric drill thing. So I have a bed, a table with matching chairs and a low table for a tv with shelves under for game cartridges. And some cutlery and mugs and a saucepan and frying pan. I only had a two hundred quid allowance for furniture so that’s what I got. Now I’m twenty‑one, I’ll get a disability pension on top of my other allowance so I’ll easily be able to afford more stuff. Getting it home is the problem, though. I don’t know if they deliver. The super has just pulled up so I’ll continue this later.

 

­ ­ * * *

 

Oops! I forgot about this. Now it’s already three days later and I’ve officially moved in. My clothes are hanging up in the walk‑in closet and my artificial legs are all standing up against the wall in my bedroom. They look really funny in a row like that. I don’t know if there’s any point in hanging on to the old ones, really. I’m not going to ever wear them again. Maybe I could donate them. I’ll have to ask at the clinic when I go for my appointment tomorrow. I’ve been to the supermarket this morning. There’s a big one about a kilometre away. The tram pulls up next to the entrance which is really handy. I just bought some stuff for sandwiches really. I’m not sure about cooking. I’ll have to look at a couple of videos about how to cook before I dare to start trying myself. It can’t be that hard. It’s only chemistry, after all.

 

Jimmy texted me to ask if I was settled in already. He wants to come round and I said come tomorrow after I get back from the clinic. I gave him the entry code. Jim only has a few months left at the orphanage before they kick him out too. Maybe he’ll be given a flat here. There are lots of empty flats still. It would be nice if we lived in the same building. I bet he wants to stay the night. If he does, I’m going to let him.

 

So anyway, the new guy at the clinic introduced himself and asked me about my tin leg and if I had other prostheses so I told him about my peg leg and he was interested to hear that. I found out that I can leave my old legs at the clinic and they can recycle the bits which still work so that’s what I’m going to do. Then I asked if they still made tin legs now that the other doctor had left and Andrew, that’s the new guy’s name, said it should be possible as long as the outside facility still produced them to order. He said most of the tin legs they made these days were for theatrical and cinematic purposes and were used worldwide. I feel very honoured to be among such important people. I took my leg off and he checked my stump and the tin leg for wear and tear but there wasn’t anything he could see and I have nothing to complain about. I came away with two new liners and some fresh stump socks. I think the first thing I need to buy is a washing machine. I can’t stand the idea of washing my stump socks in a bucket every night. There’s a tap and thing on the wall in my bathroom for a washing machine because there’s no space in the kitchen.

 

If they can still make tin legs, that means I could have a matching one made if I get a second stump. I wonder what it would feel like to have no legs. Of course, I’d still have my stumps. They’re as good as legs. All you need is a bit of technology and off you go. It’s only when you really lose your legs right up to your arse that you should be called legless. That’s what I think, anyway. I wouldn’t like to be legless but it would be fun to have short stumps. Two the same as the one I have now and waddle around on stubbies. I reckon that would be as horny as wearing a peg leg.

 

Jimmy sat opposite me at my kitchen table and asked me lots of questions about what it felts like to be independent and if I had started cooking yet and what they said at the clinic. Anyone would think that we hadn’t seen each other for months instead of just five days. But it’s nice we’re together alone. No‑one else will butt in if we kiss or if Jim is fondling my stump. He brought a box of red wine, some Hungarian plonk, and we were both a bit sozzled after a couple of hours. For some reason, we got to talking about my collection of ancient fake legs which you could sort of see if you leaned back on your chair and peered into my bedroom. They were lined up along the wall. I said I’d like a pair of tin legs because having one was so cool and Jimmy agreed, of course. But before I could have another tin leg, I would have to have my other leg off and did he have any ideas about how to go about such a thing. All we could think of was sneaking off down to the station and dropping down onto the track in front of a train. It would have to be one that was stopping otherwise you could be caught up in the air turbulence as it whooshed past and end up in very little pieces indeed. You needed a train which was almost stopped and then you would stick your leg out and crunch! The wheels would crush it so they would have to cut it off properly in the hospital. Tidy it all up and everything. It all sounded very easy and Jimmy said he was fairly sure that the local station had exactly the sort of platform where you could lie against it out of view of anyone until the train came. And then he asked if I was going to cut my leg off and I said I might if I could find someone who would help me do it and afterwards when I was legless and he said he would help because he loved me and had loved me since he saw me for the first time. Wine sometimes has that effect, I have heard.

 

So next morning after sandwiches for breakfast, we caught the tram from the end of the road into town and used our travel passes to get onto the platforms. It was true what Jimmy had said. There was a kind of inset space under the lip of the platforms where a person could hide amongst all the chocolate wrappers and coke cans until a train arrived. It seemed the best way of going about having some kind of accident. Jimmy came back to my flat with me and we began to plan what exactly I would have to do before putting my leg under the train wheels. Neither of us doubted that I would not do it. I took my tin leg off and put my peg on. Jimmy preferred seeing the peg. He liked the way it jutted out. He said I could have two peg legs which was an idea which I had not dared to think about. Imagine walking around on two peg legs! How would you balance? It seems impossible. Jim said he had seen photos. I said I’d like to see those photos too before I believe him, although I have to say it sounds like a horny idea. So he dug around on the net for a couple of minutes and showed me a video of some French guys walking on two peg legs after the war when they couldn’t afford anything better and I had to believe him. I tried to imagine what life would be like with two stumps. Just two tin legs to rely on and maybe a pair of walking sticks. I could be dressed up to the nines for some function with my tin legs hidden but still marked out as disabled by my trusty walking sticks. Everywhere I went I would be admired for my ability and skill for walking about on tin legs like men after the war which invented tin legs for everyone. Lurching around, clutching a friend’s arm or pieces of furniture. I would make do with my sticks and grow a collection of them to match the collection of artificial legs which I was sure to have a load of.

 

Jimmy came back again and stayed overnight again. He ran out to get us breakfast stuff the next morning and while I waited for him to come back, I sat on my Ikea chair wearing my peg leg and a T‑shirt and thought how very disabled I would be after the train arrived. Jimmy was more than a friend. He was like an alter ego, another version of yourself. Except in Jimmy’s case, he had legs and let me fuck him.

 

­ ­ * * *

 

The accident was easy enough to arrange. I wore camo gear from the thrift shop, the cheaper the better. Jimmy came to the station with me and went to the opposite platform where he could see me until the train came. It was just one of the local electrics, nothing special. All over the station there were the same announcements ‘The train now arriving on platform nine is the six fifteen service to Wilsholm via Stambridge’ or whatever. Brilford via Epsnade Junction stopping at Wilpool. I didn’t know where the trains went. I didn’t care. I was listening for the one which said ‘The train now arriving at platform three’. That was the train I was waiting for. It was only four carriages so it was fairly nippy. I had taken up a position where I could hold onto a bit of concrete so I could get some leverage to swing my leg out sharpish. Whatever kind of amputation I was going to get, it would be at some kind of slant. The train would run over my leg at an angle.

 

“The train now arriving at platform three is the seventeen forty‑nine to Welford.” I could feel the rail vibrating and waited for the first wheels to pass. The train was obviously slowing so in the second and a half between the front and rear wheels of the second carriage, I stretched my leg across the rail and gritted my teeth. It didn’t hurt as much as I expected. No‑one seemed to have noticed and I was reluctant to shout and make a scene before the train had left. I knew Jimmy was looking out for me and had probably already called for an ambulance. It didn’t take long before I could hear sirens and I thought they must be coming for me. Suddenly there were dozens of people on the platform above me and opposite. I was rescued from my hidey‑hole, slid into the ambulance and left with two confused medics who found themselves with a man wearing a tin leg and a traumatic amputation of the other. Fortunately I was pumped full of saline and painkiller. I had lost a good amount of blood and my adrenaline rush was wearing off. Now the pain began in earnest, as the saying goes. But the painkiller had a calming effect and distorted time. Before I even realised, I was being stripped naked and washed with disinfectant by a nurse. A doctor, my surgeon I suppose, took a look at the squashed and torn remnant of my thigh and muttered something to his colleague. And the next thing I knew, I was waking up.

 

It was already the next day. I tried to feel how long my new stump was but it was heavily bandaged. I found out later that the police were waiting to interview me. The railway authorities too were curious to know how the incident happened. I had already planned ahead of time. I was going to say that I had no memory of how I came to fall from the platform. The first thing I remember is waking up legless. I thought even the hardest copper might not press me too hard, an unfortunate youngster with life‑changing injuries. I was waiting to hear from Jimmy. I have my phone with me somewhere, maybe a nurse has put it in a cupboard drawer or something. I don’t have my charger with me though. I wonder if the police already suspect Jimmy of being in cahoots with me. I hope not. Although I don’t know what crime he could be accused of. 

 

The surgeon doctor dropped by to see how I was doing. He described my injuries and said I was lucky to be alive. They always say that, regardless of what condition they have left you in. He regretted that there was so much potentially dangerous filth embedded along my thigh bone that he was compelled to amputate quite high leaving six centimetres of humerus thigh bone and a generous cushion of flesh.

 

So under all these bandages, I don’t even have a proper stump. Just a bit of bone left, the length of a half smoked cigarette. All covered by a ball of flabby muscle. I will never walk on stubbies or peg legs. I’ll always have to rely on my first stump. That is now my “good” leg. I will have to wear my tin leg with a pair of crutches. I really hate crutches. Or even better, I could wear my peg leg with crutches. That would look really something. And maybe they can fit me with some kind of artificial limb hanging from a belt or something. I don’t know how they fit you up if you’re legless. I am legless. I never thought I would experience what it actually means to be legless but it’s what I have in store. I have a lot of alternatives, though. I can try to learn to walk on tin legs. I can sit in a wheelchair wearing shorts to cover my stumps or have a pair of cosmetic legs made which just look like legs. They’re only to fool the public. Or I could scoot around on a skateboard wearing boxing gloves to protect my hands or make a platform on casters and pull myself along with a pair of hefty old fashioned irons. That would make me look really disabled. I have all these choices available to me now. I’ll definitely be the centre of attention wherever I go. It would be great if Jimmy is with me too. There are things which are difficult without legs. It’s good to have an assistant. I wonder what fucking him will be like now? I can’t imagine not being able to get some purchase with my knee to get some force into my strokes. I guess it’s just something else which lies ahead to discover. I know one thing. It’s good I’ve only just started furnishing my new flat because everything I buy now will have to be suitable for a legless man. So many changes and so many new things. Most of all I am longing to know what sort of artificial leg they are going to give me. I think a normal one is out of the question. There’s hardly any stump to attach it to. Maybe I’ll have a belt and braces sort of thing with my stump covered up completely and an entire leg attached on a hinge right at the top. I bet that will be a lark, trying to walk on something like that with my tin leg on the other stump.

 

My nurse heard my phone pinging and took it out to look at. There was hardly any charge so she charged it up and then brought it to me with the charger. It was a message from Jimmy asking if I was ok and what they had done. And he said he had heard from the housing people and gave me his new address. I think it’s the same building as my flat. I was going to type back a long message but I asked the nurse when I would be allowed visitors. She wasn’t sure and went off to ask. It’s alright if Jimmy wants to visit, she said. Forty minutes tops, at six o’clock. So I told Jimmy to come round tonight.

 

The police have been talking to him, asking questions about what he saw at the station. He says he has no idea how I came to fall under the train. He said he knew me from the orphanage but that I had moved out. He said I had called out and that’s how he knew someone was under the train. And that’s why he called an ambulance. It sounds a bit peculiar but he said he told them he was in shock and couldn’t really remember. I’m going to tell them that I think my tin leg must have collapsed under me and that’s why I fell. It’s quite possible except that I can control it a lot better than that. I haven’t fallen wearing my tin leg for years. The hospital hasn’t let the police in yet to interview me.

 

I let Jimmy see my new stump all bandaged up. It’s easy to tell that it’s really short. Jimmy said he remembered me talking about being a one‑legged man on crutches and it seemed it would be true after all. He said he had seen videos of amputees in rehab trying to balance on artificial legs after they’d had their legs completely dislocated. He didn’t think I would want to rely on something like that, not for everyday use. Maybe on special occasions when I needed to just stand somewhere for any length of time. Otherwise he said it would be cool if I walked on tall armpit crutches and my tin leg. I had already come to the same conclusion. But like I said, there are other ways for a legless man to get around. Best of all though is the fact that Jimmy is moving into the same building as me but he doesn’t know what floor his flat is on. It doesn’t really matter as long as the lift works.

 

­ ­ * * *

 

I’m home again. Twenty‑five days after the train adventure. The police came and chatted with me and I explained how my leg gave way when I was too close to the edge of the platform, where I shouldn’t have been anyway. They thought I had lost both my legs under the train and I had to explain that I was already an amputee before and had a tin leg. One of the policemen said it was a pity that the train didn’t crush that one instead. I don’t agree. If he knew how difficult is to have a tin leg made these days he wouldn’t see anything good about having it crushed to bits. They went away satisfied. What they wanted to know was if I wanted to sue the railway company. I asked if they thought I could get compensation and they said they doubted it because it was pretty much my own fault as far as they could see. If only they knew. And I still have all the money from my first amputation in the bank, plus my disabled pension.

 

The hospital let me go early because I told them I did not want a prosthesis for my new residual limb. That’s how they talk about artificial legs for your stumps. The rehab doctor told me about the sort of bucket system they have for men with really short stumps or no stumps at all and I said I wasn’t interested. So they let me borrow a wheelchair with no footplate and brought me home. Jimmy said he could call round if I needed some shopping and that’s what we did. I went out shopping in a wheelchair for the first time ever. Everything looks so different when you’re just sitting down but it was handy to pile the bags onto the front of the seat instead of carrying them. My new stump is so short it looks like there’s no stump there at all. My old one is long enough to be visible. I should get a short stubby or peg leg for it when I’m in the wheelchair. That way I can slip out of the chair and stand on it for a bit. I should get some short crutches too. I’m going to ask the rehab clinic.

 

Jimmy said I should start a channel on the internet, on 4Pay or one of the porn channels. That way, people could pay to look at photos of my stumps and so on. We already have a load of photos. Jimmy really loves my new stump because it looks so useless. I can make it wiggle and you can see the bone moving about under the flesh. Jimmy said I am the first amp he’s ever seen with a dick longer than his leg stump. We could even make our own porn with me on Jimmy’s back shafting him. We haven’t had sex yet. I’m not supposed to do anything stressful which might injure my stump. I am going to be so horny soon that anything could set me off. I have had a wank but it’s not the same. And I want to find out how it feels to fuck without legs. One thing I do know. It’s possible for me to spread my stumps out to the side much wider than I could before when there were tendons and muscles attached to my knee. It will be fun to try holding on to Jimmy legs with my stumps to get some purchase for drilling his arse.

 

Jimmy has moved in. His flat is three floors above mine. He’s not twenty‑one yet but he has to take up living in his flat within six weeks of notice otherwise he loses the flat. So the orphanage had to let him go. He hasn’t got any furniture at all but I’ll give him some of mine. He can have my bed (too high for me) and my kitchen table and chairs (same). I need lower stuff, custom made. My bed is just the mattress on the floor. I have to sit in the wheelchair at home, otherwise I can’t really do anything. I’d like to have a light sports wheelchair. This hospital one is a bit old and clunky. I don’t want to rely on a wheelchair but I think I should probably have one. There will be times when my stump is sore or my tin leg is in for repairs when I’ll need one. Jimmy spends most of his time in my flat. It would be good if we had a bigger living room. We could share the same flat if there was a bit more room. We don’t need a bigger bedroom because we both fit into the same bed and the bathroom is already big enough to take my wheelchair. Jimmy’s bathroom is just normal. Toilet, shower and space for a washing machine.

 

I’ve been back to the hospital to talk with the rehab people about buying a proper wheelchair and having a peg leg or something made for my old stump. And short crutches. The rehab guy was a bit unsure if I really meant a peg leg. Most men like me have a big thick stubbie which is much better for standing on and easier to walk on. I said I could have a stubbie too, go ahead and make one. He laughed and said he would measure me up for a stubbie leg which would make me as tall as I was before when I knelt. So knee length. And I would have a pair of elbow crutches to let me lift myself around on it. He was not sure that I would be allowed to have a peg leg but I told him I already had one and could even adapt it myself if I had a saw. I wouldn’t like to cut my long peg leg. I’m sure I’ll be able to wear it again somehow instead of my tin leg. The rehab guy asked how I was getting on in general at home as an independent amputee and I said everything was going fine but I was always having to be careful not to knock my stumps. I didn’t have anything to wear on my new stump to protect it. He said he had an idea which might help. It would be a plaster of Paris shell around my belly and covering my stumps. It would let me rock myself around on my hands without having to watch out all the time. He called it a monocoque. It’s like the things ice hockey amputees use, he said, but I didn’t know what he meant. I looked it up on the net later on when I remembered and it looks really horny to sit in a monocoque. There were even photos of guys sitting in plaster ones looking very horny without legs and just a long plaster bucket to balance in. They all had big grins so they couldn’t have been all that unhappy. I came away from rehab with orders for one thick carbon stubbie, one short peg leg which can be attached to my old peg leg’s socket so I can swap them over with a screwdriver, one pair of shortened elbow crutches and one aluminium sports wheelchair with no footplate but silicon wheels and a genuine leather seat. I have to go to the factory to be measured for it but the rehab guy reckons the hospital will organise it for me. Otherwise, I have to go to the clinic for all the various fittings. I don’t mind. Everything is getting me closer to the ideal way I want to live my life, as a legless man. Not in exactly the way I hoped because I wanted two stumps and I really only have one but that’s better than having legs or a leg.

 

I never knew that not having legs would make me feel so free. When I feel horny, everything seems to be concentrated into my dick and stumps. I can wank by just playing with my stumps, although it’s better if Jimmy does it for me. My new stump is especially horny. I’m beginning to think they made it so short just so I could feel how sexy it is to have a stump right next to my cock and balls. No, I don’t suppose they did but I bet the surgeon knew. I bet he thought ‘this young man is going to have some fun with this bit of stump’. He was right. I think he made the right decision to leave me some stump when he could easily have thought ‘fuck it’ and given me a dislocation. Then I would just have a pelvis bone with no stump whatsoever. I don’t think that would be very horny.

 

My new furniture is arriving in dribs and drabs. Instead of my mattress, now I have what they call a futon which is meant to be a bed right on the floor. It had a very low bamboo frame and thin mattresses you can pile up on top of each other. Anyway, there’s lots of room for me and Jimmy to share it. I don’t need a lot of room. I can sleep sideways in a big armchair if I take my peg leg off. I have some thick mats with cushions in the living room instead of chairs. I don’t have many visitors but they will just have to sit on the floor with me. It’s not uncomfortable. Jimmy loves it and is doing the same thing in his flat. He still sleeps with me most nights now that my stump is completely healed and completely horny all the time. We have been videoing our fucks which look totally amazing from the side. It’s amazing to see how I have to squirm my body without legs to enter his arsehole and fuck him. It doesn’t look as if it could be possible but my dick can stay hard for ages and being legless doesn’t stop it getting what it needs. Sometimes you can catch a silhouette of my dick and see that it really is longer than my new stump.

 

At last the rehab people got their act together and delivered everything in one fell swoop. Everything was in one big cardboard box in their own boxes. I had to find a knife to get them open and to do that, I had to get in my wheelchair so I could reach the kitchen drawer with the knives and things. It’s not easy being legless. Everything takes longer than you think. I’m only joking. Who cares. The main thing is you have stumps. Whatever else happens, you will always have them and no‑one can take them away from you. Anyway, first out of the box was the monocoque which was not only plaster, it had a layer of plastic all over it to keep it waterproof. So it was black instead of white like I thought it would be. There was a load of READ ME instructions with it so I knocked it away to one side and went back to emptying the box. Next was my pair of short crutches all wrapped in bubble wrap. I unwrapped them as carefully as I could so as not to mess up the bubble wrap because I love popping the bubbles afterwards. The crutches were silver with big black rubber tips like anchors or foundations. I’ve never seen such big crutch tips. They look well horny. Then I tipped the box over so I could look inside better. My new peg leg fell into my lap and it looked so amazing all wrapped up to protect it. I would put it on my old socket. I could see why my crutch tips were so enormous. It was to match the tip of the short peg leg. All the tips were enormous, bigger than any rubber tip I’d seen before. They were like black flowerpots turned upside down. They were the horniest thing I could ever imagine having at the end of my peg leg until I gave the box a shake and my first ever stubbie dropped out.

 

It was still wrapped up but I could see it was the most perfect thing I could ever have. It didn’t weigh hardly anything and it reached from my cock and balls to where I had a knee before. It was just black carbon, shiny as anything and really smart. There was a load of cushioning stuff inside the socket and I tore the bubble wrap off and pulled the stump socks out from inside my new stubbie. I was so excited I couldn’t stand it any longer. I tilted over backwards and came in my underpants. I hadn’t had a fuck for months so I was full of spunk and it went everywhere.

 

I tried to see where I had cum so I could clean it up later on but I pushed my new short crutches across the room followed by the stubbie and a couple of packs of stump socks. I handwalked across the room and leant against the wall. I took all the wrapping off everything, tried the stubbie on and then put some socks on before I squashed my old stump into the brand new stubbie. It was so long. I had never seen anything so horny and my slimy dick rose up once again. I pulled the stubbie carefully onto my stump and when it felt like it would go no further, I sat back and looked down at what I had become. The stubbie was the most comfortable thing I had ever worn. It looked like half an elephant’s leg, completely inhuman and just about the horniest thing I had ever seen in my life. I leaned back against the wall and lifted my stump. The stubbie rose and seemed to promise to be ready for me wherever I went. I could see it was perfect. I scrabbled for the short crutches which would let me actually walk on the stubbie. They were also covered in warnings and READ MEs like no‑one had ever used crutches before. They should have come with instructions on how to use crutches with such enormous flowerpot rubber tips. I guestimated the proper number of holes to extend the poles and tried pushing myself up onto my stubbie. I felt myself drop slightly deeper into it due to the force of gravity and my liner tightened against my stump. Waving my arms around for balance on the base of this new stump, I quickly grabbed the crutches and tested them for length. They seemed right so I slotted my arms into the crutches and leaned on them to test for balance. I looked down to see my fists gripping new crutches and the shiny black stubbie. It was all to much and I fell back against the wall again and came all over the floor for the second time. The way I think of it is, my body was reacting to what my brain thought about its new body. It could go on in a circulation of horn, being turned on by your own stumps and artificial limbs until you were wanked dry.

 

The doorbell rang. It was the worst time in my entire life to answer the door. I had a cylinder on my stump which I had never tried before and crutches which felt very strange. I was scrabbling about trying to position my stubbie while making sure my crutches would hold me when I heard to door open. It could only be Jimmy. No‑one else had a key. He came into the living room and stopped when he saw me half naked. I have to admit my long black stubbie looked horny but Jimmy cried out and staggered towards the kitchen wall holding his crotch. He was coming in his pants. It was the best compliment I’ve ever had and it took only ten seconds. It gave me a lot of confidence that when I show myself in public, half the men are nursing erections after they see me and the rest are trying to disguise their ejaculations. Of course, these days I have a longer stubbie designed by experts to be more attractive and my clothes are coutured for an amputee. But I am getting ahead of myself. As it was, this was the first time anyone had ever seen me using or wearing a stubbie and I was uncertain about my appearance. Especially with the short crutches which always look a bit odd and hopeless. They make me look especially disabled so I use them when I can. Which is most of the time. Then I remembered, seeing Jimmy emptying his balls.

 

I wanted to try out my short peg leg, seeing as how the stubbie had such a grand effect. I told Jimmy to fetch my peg and my tool pack, always a necessary item for an amputee. Mine was a big bright pink bag with screws and bolts and the tools to screw them. I found the proper hex keys and undid the long pylon of my favourite peg leg. I inserted the brand new peg leg into the same place and reinserted the screws. I asked Jimmy to pull my stubbie off. I could see how difficult it was for him by his expression. Then I pulled the socket of my new short peg leg over my longer stump and fumbled for my crutches. I asked Jimmy to help me to my foot, my rubber ferrule, the flowerpot. I leaned forward on the enormous crutch tips while I felt the balance which the peg leg gave me. Jimmy was groaning again and withdrawing away curled up. The sight of me on a short peg leg and two crutches was too much for him. He came in his trousers and when he thought he had stopped, he looked back at me and came again.

 

Many men have reacted the same way over the years since and neither me or Jimmy are surprised. We both know that stump worship is a real phenomenon and many men are up for the pleasure of watching a pair of genuine amputees practising what they do best. Fucking. That’s what our 4Pay channel turned into after the first thirty or so videos of me using various combinations of stubbies and other gear. The most popular videos, the ones which bring in the most revenue, are the ones where I shaft Jimmy wearing one of my peg legs. Then I swap out the rubber tip for a silicon dildo and fuck him again with the peg leg. It’s amazing to watch close ups of my short stump squirming around trying to maintain my balance I’m fucking Jimmy.

 

There are the other channel members too, the ones who are only interested in seeing my stumps and the others who are more interested in seeing my peg legs. I used to use my stubbie leg most often because it was a bit more stable and I liked the way it resembled a thigh. It was more like half a leg and I could relate to that. But after a year or two, I began to miss walking on my old peg leg, the one I had when I had a full leg on the other side instead of my short stump. It still fit onto my stump with no problem but I was too unsure on it to use it regularly, especially outside. Jimmy suggested I start out with a new socket specially designed for a whole range of different length peg legs which I could change according to my mood. I could have several pairs of crutches to suit the pegs and gradually I would become used to walking on a single peg leg. And that is what I did. My new prosthetist guy is very open to new ideas and we worked together on a ratchet system to fix various lengths pylon to my new socket. The new socket is as long as my thigh. Sometimes I wear it when I am in my chair. It helps me balance better and it looks stunning poking out of my shorts.

 

So as time went on, I regained some of my height. My shortest and second shortest peg legs are great for wearing in my wheelchair or on the skateboard. They protect my stump and look cool. I have two middle length pegs before arriving back at my first long peg. And I am using it again almost every time Jimmy and me go out anywhere. I get round the problem of its length by simply pulling the socket off my stump. It’s not in the way any more than my crutches. I rely on Jimmy to lift me up when I want to stand. There is no way I can stand up by myself on the long peg leg. If I fall, I can’t get up again without someone’s help. Luckily it doesn’t happen often.

 

I have begun to wear the monocoque again. It looks fine and feels fine. It makes me completely disabled. I can’t really move my stump inside it. All I can do is sit. So it’s great for handwalking. It feels very safe and secure to know that my stumps are safe and I whatever I choose to do, handwalk or chair it, I don’t need to be so careful. The base of the coque is not flat which makes it easier to rock myself around in it. I usually wear ordinary workmen’s gloves when I handwalk. They don’t cost much and are strong enough to last a couple of outings.

 

People often ask me what it feels like to have no legs. But sometimes I still feel my left leg. My right stump has always just been itself. I lost my leg so young that my body adapted, I suppose. It’s like a leg of sorts. I can’t walk on it. I need some kind of socket on it, something hard and protective. Then I can have a tin leg or a short peg leg fitted to it, whatever I want. And that is how tall I will be. But however tall I am, I can only feel as far as my stump. I have to concentrate on balancing and if I am wearing my artificial leg, I have to pay attention to the knee mechanism. It’s reliable enough but it’s not difficult to make too short a step so the knee gives way and I fall. Then I need help to get up again. Someone must lift me. That is why I prefer to use one of my medium peg legs with short crutches. I feel much more secure and it’s easier to kick my stump around when there’s only a rubber ferrule at the end of my pylon instead of a mechanical knee and a foot beyond that. I like it when I know I will be safe on my tin leg. Jimmy is always by me to pull me up but otherwise I rely on my crutches. They are like my legs now. I have so many pairs.

 

Otherwise, I can only talk about my stumps. The short one is like a sex toy. I can always attract Jimmy’s attention by rotating the very short stub of thigh bone I have left. It has a much bigger effect on the loose muscle flesh around it and Jimmy takes it as a signal to start our regular stump play. My old stump is much less sensitive. It’s more like a tool to attach a peg leg to, nothing more. Even when I had a left leg, I never thought that my stump was sexy in any way. Not for other people, I mean. I found it to be a completely new kind of limb which made me horny by rubbing or tickling it. But my younger stump, which has never had an artificial leg attached to it, is much more sensitive and reacts to stimulation by jerking it about. Sometime it wakes me up when I am having a wet dream or something and suddenly my stump is kicking as if it was the stump of a penis ejaculating. Best of all is when I try rubbing it against my erection. My dick is longer than my short stump but sometimes it feels like my dick is trying to fuck the flabby muscle around the stump and that makes me cum.

 

­ ­ * * *

 

After many years of living as an apparently one‑legged cripple, assisted by my willing assistant and lover, I determined to relearn to walk to the best of my ability on a pair of tin legs. I made it quite clear to Andrew, with whom I have developed a personal relationship far beyond his professional position. He has acted as my advisor and mentor over the years and gone to extraordinary lengths to ensure that my unusual requirements are fulfilled. I now own a pair of full‑length tin legs painstakingly fitted to my minimal stumps, sculpted to resemble healthy muscular natural legs and balanced to perfection providing me the maximum degree of security. I am told that I am one of only three amputees in the entire country to receive aluminium prostheses of this design and the only bilateral. I am therefore something of a star among the prosthetists and technicians who played a part in their manufacture, my progress followed keenly and featured in several professional theses.

 

That being said, my gait is far from natural or fluid. The left leg is attached to a solid socket, also aluminium, in which I half sit. It is similar in design to my monocoque which allows me perfect leglessness in motion. The leg is suspended, or joined, to it by a single hinge. It allows the thigh a natural range of motion in the forward direction, meaning that it folds when I sit. The knee is jointed with an ultra secure artificial knee mechanism which guarantees almost complete security when I twist the leg forward. I feel my heel strike the ground in the sensitive flesh surrounding my microstump. The knee becomes rigid allowing me to swing my original half thigh forward with its tin leg. Both my ankles are rigid, against the unswaying advice of my prosthetists who insist I would walk more naturally with articulated ankle joints. I am not, nor have I ever been, interested in providing onlookers with an impression of prosthetic naturalness. I wish to create the impression of a legless man, a severely disabled cripple, using obsolete technology to ambulate on those occasions where an erect stance is preferable to any of my other configurations.

 

Jimmy accompanies me everywhere. We are a married couple. I believe our wedding was a memorable event for all present. We chose steampunk as our theme and spent many weeks purchasing suitable clothes from welfare stores. We escorted each other to the registrar’s podium. I wore my newest peg leg, a long slender tapering cone which looked stunning when paired with old‑fashioned full‑length axillary crutches. Needless to say, I stood for many hours that day, watched closely whenever I circulated among our friends and invités. Latterly, I rely on the right tin leg almost exclusively. My trousers have been altered to emphasize the lack of a left stump and the right leg is shortened sufficiently to guarantee a peek of bare aluminium at my ankle. I do not wear socks.

 

We are frequently asked by forum members whether we intend progressing further with our adventures in disability. Jimmy has never envisaged himself as a cripple but I suspect that if he were to become disabled accidentally, he would not find it a completely negative experience. On my part, I have occasionally entertained the fantasy of losing a hand in favour of a mechanical hook or even a passive hook. However, I am too reliant on crutches and the frequent pair of walking sticks to lose my hands without some assurance that an artificial replacement is as secure.

 

­ ­* * *

 

This will be the last diary entry I make in the traditional manner. Regardless of my previous protestations, I have been persuaded to undergo two more minor amputations for my lover. I should explain. Jimmy passed away three years ago, a victim of an aggressive brain cancer. Completely inoperable. I do not believe he suffered physical pain. His anguish was evident soon after the initial symptoms began, when he realised he was literally losing his mind. However, Andrew stepped in with moral and physical support during Jimmy’s demise, always present when needed, always of assistance with his friendly advice. Last year he joined me and we have been living as a couple ever since.

 

Andrew has revealed more about himself that his average client suspects. He is an unusually knowledgeable prosthetist with a broad imagination regarding the myriad ways an amputee might overcome various obstacles. This partly explains his willingness to encourage his patients to create outlandish solutions to their predicaments. In my case, he has a personal interest in seeing that his lover is equipped as well as can be expected within the limits I impose on my artificial limbs. They must be distinctive, functional and body‑operated. I will never succumb to electronic assistance.

 

To clarify my statement above, Andrew has retrained as an upper limb prosthetist at the ripe old age of forty‑five. He is three years my junior. Twenty years experience as a leg man have been rewarding for him, bringing him some degree of fame and fortune. We discussed our future before we made our relationship official. Without going so far as to swear to stand by each other in sickness and in health etc, me on tin legs manufactured by Andrew, I agreed to act as a living model in order to help Andrew progress in his new endeavour. Andrew has promised to manufacture a most excellent pair of bilateral arm prostheses for me after convincing me to succumb to my desires to feel ever more disabled. It is one thing to be a legless man walking on tin legs, quite another to be that same man additionally encumbered by artificial arms extending to his shoulders. Tomorrow I set out on the road to become that man. My arms are to be amputated by one of Andrew’s most entrusted colleagues who knows me from several meetings at our apartment. My amputations will see the removal of my elbows and a couple of centimetres of bone above that. I shall sport long humeral stumps. And Andrew will make me a selection of prostheses to satisfy my needs and his curiosity. The days of gripping a pair of trusty rustic walking sticks to aid with walking are over, as are all opportunities of using my favoured wooden crutches. Instead, I shall have aluminium crutches with sockets into which I insert my stumps. They will provide the necessary support. I shall be ambulatory but so severely disabled that almost everything I need to do while standing will become impossible. I shall be completely reliant on Andrew, which is the main reason for my imminent transformation. I know in myself that forgoing my hands and forearms will be a fascinating challenge to be overcome with the same sense of adventure and expectancy I felt as a headstrong teenager about to become legless under a suburban train.

 

 

THE TRAIN NOW ARRIVING