ADAM'S WORLD

Part I

by Lee G.

Chapter One - Wanting to Be in Adam's World

We count ourselves among the happiest of men. Not completely happy, but close.

"We" means Arthur and me - two gay male wannabe devotees approaching middle age. If you don't know what a wannabe or a devotee is, read on. That's what we are.

Why are we so happy? Because we have helped create a world - a thriving community of men who see beauty in bodies without four working limbs. It is a world that not only accepts but appreciates people like us. It is Adam's World.

Why are we not completely happy? Because we have not achieved "reality". But at least Adam's World is real. Our world is real.

Probably the best way to explain this cryptic introduction is simply to start telling our story.

I (Bob) have known as long as I've known anything that I was fascinated by missing arms and equally fascinated by missing or paralyzed or deformed legs and any appliance that provided function to people who had them or didn't have them as the case might be. With onset of puberty, the very sight of a such a fascinating person gave me an enormous erection - if the person was male. Since I liked the feeling of the erection, I did lots of looking. And I treasured every sighting in person or photograph. I could recall - and I did recall often, in exacting detail - each precious vision. I "played" at binding up a leg. I obtained crutches and hid them in the closet. I made hooks of coat hangers. And I knew that no one would understand so I kept all this as a secret.

Growing up like this helped in one way, however. It made a career choice easy. Getting myself trained and certified to make and service limbs and braces was the best idea (well, almost the best, as you will see later) I ever had. It has brought me friends, a lover, and Adam's World.

I worked hard at my job, until I had enough money to put with a small inheritance into the purchase of a brace and limb shop in a city where I knew no one. By this time I had no family ties or anything else to keep me from putting a plan into action. The plan was to live in braces and special shoes I had made. The employees in my new shop saw me only in braces.

Gradually the braces went higher and became more complicated and the shoes became more and more obviously deformed. In a few years I spent most of the day in a wheelchair (we were now selling them, too, along with all kinds of other mobility aids and appliances), although I still used crutches for some activities like getting from car to apartment.

So by the time Arthur came on the scene, I was a full time cripple. Most people I knew had no idea that I lived this way by choice. The few, like some trusted employees and colleagues, who did know, accepted this as a real part of me. Sex in braces was awkward and rare, but I appreciated it all the more for the difficulty. What seemed nearly impossible was a relationship of true intimacy and sharing. I hated the sight of my naked legs. I hated the sight of my feet without the built-up high top shoes. If I couldn't stand myself naked, how was I going to bare both soul and body to anyone else?

And then Arthur came into my life.

For some time we had noticed a car passing frequently in front of the brace and limb shop. It seemed to go by more slowly with each pass. Then a man kept walking by - trying, but failing, to act completely casual. Finally, I, who have never lacked for words, wheeled out to the sidewalk. I was about to say something brash like "What's the matter, buddy, didn't your mother teach you not to stare at cripples?" But two things made me change my tune. He was really cute, with the most wonderfully and powerfully developed chest sculpted under his shirt. "Ah, if only he didn't have so many limbs," I thought.

The second thing which stopped me in my tracks was a face which silently spoke of fear to speak. So I settled for, "Can I help you, sir?" He stammered out something unintelligible, so I knew this was going to take some time. "Come on into my office," I said, as I turned the chair around and indicated for him to follow.

Well, after much hemming and hawing he finally blurted out. "How much do hooks cost?" Then he hid his red face and tears in his hands and bolted out the door. I yelled after him, "Stop. Don't worry, it's all right." And I added to myself, "It's never been more all right. For you, honey, hooks won't cost anything." I got him back in the office and told him about and showed him my braces. I will never forget the look of relief I saw on his face.

And I never will forget his look of sheer delight as, one night after everyone else had left the shop, he tried on the finished products and looked at himself in the shop mirror. I heaved myself up on crutches to stand behind and see for myself the most beautiful vision of my life - Arthur in a tshirt over those wonderful pecs, his shoulders topped off with straps leading the eye towards the simple elegance of hooks. "How, how can...I..I ever thank you?", stammered

Arthur. "This way", I said as I maneuvered myself over to lean with back to the wall and dropped my crutches. I guided his hooks to my belt and fly. "Here is your first lesson." He was a quick learner. It didn't take him long at all to have my pants on the floor and the upper parts of all my apparatus exposed. Having undone one fly and belt, he was even quicker with his own.

Then there was the bliss of his embrace - the most real embrace I had ever experienced because it was the first one with additional pressure points of strap and metal. They were so cool to the touch of my body which was getting hotter and hotter.

Before either of us realized it. His stiff cock had found its home beside mine. It found its way through the maze of metal and leather surrounding my cock, which obviously needed no braces to stand up straight! Of course, I couldn't get much motion going with hips locked in place. But he had motion enough for both. I could feel (and hear) my butt with all its equipment banging against the wall. But before long I couldn't hear anything but Arthur's yells of pleasure and I couldn't feel anything but my cock rubbed on one side by his and on the other by some part of my braces. And my tip jamming into his stomach. And the hooks locking me in embrace. And then we came with such force as to knock us both down to the floor. Laughing and giggling we tried to untangle and then tangled up again.

On the floor I could maneuver better and soon had him pinned under all my weight, a helpless victim of my kisses and tongue and hands as I tried to get to know this wonderful body which had come into my life and which ended in its upper parts in those shiny new hooks.

After a while Arthur was able to roll me over on my back and return the favors. I felt my body worshipped, worshipped as it was, braces and all. He played with my cock, lifting it up ever so gently with his hooks and letting it fall back on to the braces, lifting into his mouth, stroking my balls with hooks. "Wow, what a wonderful smell, Bob," he said as he came up for air. "Leather and cock and sweat and cum. I'm gettin hot again. Gotta get my nose back down in there."

With his nose there you can guess where his mouth wound up. So we found ourselves in our first 69. Arthur got his hooks under my butt and lifted me into his mouth. Underneath I was busily working on him with hands all over any part of him I could find. Then I grabbed him in embrace when I could no longer do anything but hang on for the ride. As my mouth was being fucked in that ride, pounds and pounds of weight suspended from my waist were finally put in motion by his hooks. What a ride! It soon turned from trot to flat-out gallop.

Exhausted we fell asleep there on the floor of the empty shop, asleep in an embrace of interlaced arms and hooks and another embrace of legs and braces. We awoke in a few hours in a wonderful mix of discomfort from these strange new pressures on our body, but anxious for more learning of new bodies. As we began to get hot again, I asked him to help me up. For the first of so many times, I felt the comfort of strong muscles lifting all my weight on the firm prosthesis under my armpits. I lifted my arms to rest on his shoulders in a gesture that seemed to me the most natural one I had ever made in my life.

Once up on crutches and standing with both of us facing the mirror, I directed him into position behind me and aimed his hooks around my waist to meet my upright cock. Given the slight difference in our height (at least with me in built up shoes) his cock slid naturally under my butt through the braces with just the tip visible in the mirror. "Next lesson," I whispered into his ear, "is jacking off. Look in the mirror and watch where you are going." It wasn't a hard lesson to learn. Pretty soon he was pumping so hard that we weren't so much jacking off as fucking both our cocks into his hooks. The hard lesson was to keep any kind of balance while I was leaning on both him and the crutches. I failed the lesson just as we came. Again we crashed to the floor.

There were lots of lessons to follow. Days and days of them. Nights and nights of them. Arthur never went home to his miserable lonely apartment again (except to collect his things and his collection of pictures and stories to add to my similar collection). My apartment was never ever miserable and lonely again.

Arthur had lots to teach me. About business, for example. He was a genius at crunching numbers and making balance sheets grow. We became partners in every sense of the world.

And the financial parts of what was to become Adam's World are all due to him. But the best parts of his teaching were the sensory capacities of hooks - that is, my sensory capacities for receiving the attentions of hooks. Every morning, for example, I wake up to his explorations from tip of cock to tip of head. With the strength of his shoulders and of his prostheses he maneuvers my awkwardly encased body into all sorts of positions. The only ones that don't work are those associated with fucking. We have tried. It sort of works. But I either have to be locked into doggy position or lie flat out with pounds of steel and leather blocking the way. And Arthur has to provide all the motion. The saving graces are, one, that we both love to laugh at our selves and, two, that fucking seems pale in comparison to our other pleasures.

For example, there is what we do with plain old sixty nine. Arthur stuffs his cock in my waiting mouth. "It's the only way I can keep you quiet," he says. And I grab his waist and, for once, provide some motion by moving his body with my upper limbs. He plays all sorts of gentle and teasing "catch you games" with hooks on my cock. And since in that position underneath him I can't see what he is going to do, it's a constant series of surprises. With me quieted for once, Arthur provides a narrative of the beauty of my body in its braces. He emphasizes his points by clinking metal on metal. The narrative only lasts so long, however. It turns to moans of delight out of both mouths full of cock.

I suppose you wonder if we cheat, if we are ever out of braces and hooks. Let me put it this way. I have not seen my legs or feet for years. Arthur has not seen his hands.

I started to tell you about our morning routine (and sometimes our night time routine as well). After the fun, it continues with Arthur's lifting me into the chair for a trip to the bathroom. He takes off my shoes and braces for bathing, and I never look. Later I take off his hooks and ever so gently wash him. He never looks. Thanks to each other, we have forgotten the sight of what we do not want to see. Undoubtedly, we are both atrophied beyond recognition anyway.

Chapter 2

Half Man, Whole Man: Adam's Story

As told to and by Alex

I asked Adam to tell his own story and how it led to the founding of Adam's World, but he said that he has a hard enough time thinking and speaking in English without also having to write English sentences. (Adam, incidentally, is only an approximation of the name in his own language.) So here is his story as I understand it.

None of us in Adam's World know the full extent of the horrors he experienced growing up in his war torn homeland. We do know of seeing his father murdered and his mother raped. We have hints of an orphan hanging about soldier's camps. He must have been a beautiful boy because he has become such a beautiful man. We know that some soldiers saw this beauty and that hasty embraces and rolls in the grass were Adam's major source of human contact as he matured. And, obviously, we know that a landmine blew off his legs halfway up his thighs.

Bob first heard about him through an appeal to prosthestists to help the amputees of Adam's country. He was the poster child of the appeal. The bottom half of the picture was filled with his bare and deeply scarred stumps sitting outspread from his jockey shorts. At the top of the picture was the most beautiful male face imaginable.

Dark hair, classical features, the kind of face that turns both male and female heads. And the look on that face! All the suffering and pain of a country ripped apart, of families ripped apart, and of a body ripped apart were registered there.

And so, of course, Bob got the money together to bring him here. In addition to providing limbs and wheelchair and equipment, Bob put together a team of counselors, physical and occupational therapists, doctors, and social workers. He had his travel agent make the complicated arrangements. The disability activists worked their Washington channels to clear the visa. It was really that cooperative effort which started Adam's World.

The idea was to make a world where this beautiful man could be safe and could heal. But gay people -and that's what the team was, gay folks who happened to be amputees or devotees - always add some extra flair to things. Before long the plans for Adam's World grew to include the building of living space for the participants in the Adam's World project. I was the project architect and designed special units for each set of occupants. Decor, of course, was up to the occupant's own extravagant tastes. The units were arranged around a courtyard where no uninvited eyes could ever pry. It was to be a safe place for cripples. A safe place for gay cripples and their lovers.

We all fell in love with Adam as he struggled with a new culture and a new shape to his body. I fell in love in what would have been called a head over heels fashion, if I had had any heels.

You see, I know what I am doing when I design for wheel chair access. I have lived in a wheel chair for more years than Adam has been alive. A childhood accident had left me with neither stump nor hip on the left side and just enough stump to make a bump in my shorts on the right. The sight of Adam was enough to give me a second and bigger bump, however.

After lots of concern on my part about age difference and father figures and professionalism, we tumbled out of our wheel chairs into bed one day. Soon Adam's world had an extra wheelchair designed unit for rent because we were sharing a bed permanently. (By the way, beds don't have to be so long for legless people, and that way you can save lots of room when you design space for two wheelchairs to maneuver in.)

Tumble was a good word for what we did that first time. After some rolling around it was off with the tshirts and shorts, which are all the clothes either one of us needs - and shorts are really superfluous on me. Head to crotch and crotch to head we explored each other with hands and tongue. Afterwards Adam talked about how much different and better 69 is when both bodies pretty much end at the crotch. I told him his stumps made a perfect cradle for my head. He told me that my 3/4 butt was incredibly sexy to fondle.

I soon learned that Adam's phantom pain was frequent and terrible. Fortunately, I loved to massage his stumps. Massaging one, I would trace the scars on the other with my tongue. When that one was wet with kisses I would switch to the other. That kind of attention would take his mind off pain and lead to another tumble. And he would end a session of sucking by tracing my much smoother scars with his tongue. That was his thank you. Other folks talked about the beauty of his face. I thought more about the beauty of his other end, for I certainly spent more time there!

Adam really wanted something I could not supply. He wanted to be fucked (in the way that I suppose the soldiers had initiated him back when he was a kid). But there just isn't enough of me to get both balance and any action going in the typical positions. Without Adam holding and lifting me to pump my cock into him as if I were one big dildo, I either just lay on top of him or fall out and off. That doesn't particularly bother me because I have discovered the real advantage of my shape. I can lower myself down on his upright cock even when he is in a sitting position. Facing each other we kiss passionately, his tongue in my mouth and his cock in my ass.

As long as he provides some leverage and balance in his embrace I can give his cock a real workout by heaving myself up and down on my arms. It works in a wheel chair, too.

Or lying on his back with me on top and our lips and tongues going at each other madly, Adam can bend up his stumps up to meet and cradle my butt. With a little synchronized effort from my arms he can work my body against his like a piston. We wind up exhausted after a little while, but who cares?

I'd like to share with you a typical evening for us in Adam's World. Adam will have spent the day out in courtyard garden he is creating. He is a natural gardener. And he has worked out all sorts of clever ways to do the physical tasks of landscaping and gardening. Sometimes he uses the stubbies Bob has made for him.

Sometimes a wheeled cart. "My skateboard" he calls it. Mostly he just puts over his stumps and butt an arrangement of padded, leather coverings for protection during his work. I come home exhausted mentally and tired of the chair. Don't get me wrong I look at the chair as a friend and a tool. But being strapped upright in it for a whole day begins to make it seem like a prison by 5 o'clock. And also I feeled perched half-way between the ground and the "normal world's" head. (There is some advantage to being at crotch level, however!) So the moment I reach the threshold of home, of Adam's world. I lean over to touch the blessed ground, lift my self down, and roll around like a puppy. It feels so free. I am in contact with the earth. I'm grounded. I strip off clothes down to tshirt and the athletic cup I wear to protect my vital organ. (Being half a man more than halves the cost of clothing. Another advantage to being me!) I run on my hands out to the garden to see Adam.

You might be surprised at how fast I can go. Faster than Adam can go on his hands because I have almost nothing hanging between butt and and ground to get in the way. Our kiss of greeting brings about another roll in the grass. It is so good to be in his arms again that I cannot think about balance and so always topple us over.

Adam smells of earth and sun and grass and sometimes leather. From the earth we roll in and from his body, my smell becomes one with his. "Race you back to our place", I say as I lift myself up on my arms and take off.

With some combination of hitching along and head stands he follows as quickly as he can. Occasionally he cheats, if the skateboard is handy. Once back in our place there is another roll to get each other naked. If I wind up on top there is the bliss of having all there is of me resting and supported on him. He is my bed. If I wind up on the bottom there is the bliss of being covered by his body. His body is my tent, my shelter. Either way we work at getting his cock in my ass. If I'm on the bottom, I feel nothing but a fucking of my whole torso as I helpflessly bounce against the stumps on which he is kneeling. Even if we often cannot keep this going for long, it's a wonderful feeling for me that I think of as a "a total body fuck".

If I'm on top I lift my upper body up on my arms and grind my butt down on him. He supports and helps with both stumps and arms as I use everything I am to give him pleasure. What a workout for the muscles in my abdomen. I twist up and down and side to side and back and forth and around and back and around and over and all at once and squeeze his cock with yes the sphincter and hold his cock in me to slow down for a while, yes and breathe. Got to rest a while. And then again and fast and faster and moan and yell. Faster. Faster. All at once. And I come all over his belly. And I feel him shooting in my innermost being. And I am, oh so happy.

How I hope he is, too.

Later we gather with our friends in the courtyard. There is the scent of his flowers. There are friends. Many of them out of their chairs and down on our level, ground level. I lean my back up against his chest. His arms enfold me. Or they cup under my hipless side or they fondle my little bump. Ever so accidentally, a hand gets lost and finds the bump of my cock. Sometimes my arms let themselves be hugged in an embrace around my chest. Sometimes, actually pretty often, I massage his stumps outstretched at both sides of me. I lightly trace the scars with my finger tips and wish away his pain. Resting against him I can be totally natural. I don't have to worry about balance. He won't let me fall. I turn my face up to him to whisper in his ear or offer a kiss. As I twist around I feel his erection moving against me. I am so happy. How I hope he is, too.

Adam is more than enough man for me. The half of him plus the half of me makes me whole. I try to show him that. That's what I have offered to the building of Adam's World.

Chapter 3: Give the Man a Hand - The Story of Rick and Rog

We, Rick and Rog, will try to write this chapter together. It will be difficult because, of all the couples of Adam's World, we are the most independent of each other. We are more like two "I's" rather than one "we". But we will try because we like to think of ourselves as always available for growth.

The best way to describe us physically is that between us we have four elbows and and four knees but no feet and only one hand (on Rick's right side). Bob and Arthur call us the best customers of the limb shop; with seven prostheses, we are always needing something. Rick wears the most up to date and high-tech suction sockets and endoskeletal components on his legs. And either a standard terminal hook or nothing on his left arm. Rog finds he can manage better with what he grew up with: old-fashioned exoskeletal legs suspended from leather supports around his thighs which are held together by velcro so that he can open and close them - all made more secure with waist belt. He wears arm hooks for almost all activities - almost all.

An objective look at our photographs together show that Rick looks butch and confident and self assured. Usually the photographs show him striding out on his way somewhere. Rog looks still boyish at 30 plus something. But, (here Rick is speaking), he also looks a bit worried. How is he going to get through the next.... whatever the next is?

("Now I must respond to that, says Rog, "how else am I supposed to look when every damned thing requires plotting how I am going to get my prostheses to do it. What you should see is pride. Damn right, I am proud of what I have done, and do, and will do. So does my little outburst ruin our attempt at we-ness?" To which Rick responds, in his best therapist fashion, "That's right get your feelings out. Take ownership of who you are." "Fuck", says Rog. "Good idea". "Now that brings us back to a we".)

Our digression has introduced Rick's occupation. He is indeed the therapist and counselor for Adam's World and has a practice with a specialization in differently abled folks. ("Cripples", says Rog. "Up yours", says Rick. "Good idea.")

Well, we are back again after that digression to introduce Rog. His specialty is computers. He has set up the systems for all the components of Adam's World and serves as a consultant to the rest of the world for the use of and adaptation of computers for persons with non-standard limb functioning ... ("Let's not go through that again". "Why not?" "Oh, you meant that. Yes, let's do that again.")

You do get the idea of what we have in common, don't you? Four knees and four elbows and one hand plus or minus seven prostheses make anything possible in bed. The one hand, though, has been something of an issue. We need to tell you about that without any kidding around. When we use "we" in the telling of this, we are sharing with you the results of lots of emotional effort and counseling of our own. Rick's one hand helps that confidence we noticed. Rog's lack of one does indeed make life more difficult. Frankly Rog has resented and sometimes still does resent Rick's hand.

"It's a hell of thing to be jealous of one measly hand," he says, "but, damn it, I am. Actually, not jealous but angry that I want it and need it so much. There are times that I have to ask Rick to help me with some trivial task. I put it off until I am so frustrated that the resentment is increased. Above all, I want his hand on my cock.

That's the one thing I have never been able to do for myself."

"We have worked out some signals so that I can understand when he wants a hand and when he doesn't", adds Rick. "After 5 years I have learned to watch for the signs of his need and the state of his desire for help.

That holds true for daily activity and our special daily activity of sex. I can tell by a little nod or a look no one else ever sees. But, by God, no one else had better offer him a hand!"

Maybe it will help you understand if we tell you about our "first time". We had both gone to the same high school, so Rog's congenital lack of limbs was an obvious part of his first impression on Rick. Rick, however, was the "cocky jock" (Rog's phrase), who represented everything about male perfection and accomplishment

which Rog, in vain, dreamed about (and wet dreamed about). ("Rog said that, I didn't", adds Rick).

We had not seen each other after high school until the Paralympics, which attracted us both to act out in the swimming pool the "can do", competitive sides of our personalities. By that time, Rick was two years post accident and determined to succeed at a new life as an amputee. In the course of his own therapy he had been referred to the Paralympic movement. Rog had always loved the water as a place where he could achieve agility without equipment.

Rog takes over the story for awhile: "What a surprise it was to see Rick again after all these years and to see him as an equal and a competitor, not the unattainable dream. Actually, that's bull shit. I really mean I just about creamed my pants. Here was the guy I had fantasized about through puberty, as I ground my crotch against anything I could find which was firm but pliable. (Masturbation ain't easy for the armless; other kids talk about loving their hand; I loved my toilet paper roll since it was the most commonly available household object fitting snuggly around my cock.) Here was the guy I had fantasized about - naked and walking on his knees, like me, into the shower room."

"OK, my turn", says Rick. "I had indeed noticed you in high school. I had seen you at the pool in the summers taking off limbs and laying them out just so. Then going through the routine of getting them back on, standing up, and walking away head held high. God, how I admired you. You put my cocky, superficial accomplishments into proper context in a way no one else ever did. And yes, I jacked off to visions of you. And that was my great secret."

"So there we were in the shower - alone in the shower since we had been practicing in the last time slot of the day."

"And what was I supposed to do in the midst of that kiss?" Rick is speaking again. "Keep my hand off your gorgeous cock?"

"It was the first hand ever on my cock", says Rog (and this still brings tears to his eyes). "Up to now my sexual experience had been toilet paper rolls and glory holes. Yes, being on my knees was one thing I could do well.

But his was the first hand ever on my cock, and it was the hand I had most desired. As we knelt facing each other, our tongues wrapped together, with all the arms I have I held his body to mine. God, I'm hot just thinking about it."

Several minutes later, Rick continues, "It didn't take him long to show me how much he appreciated my hand with a gift of cum. Which, of course, shot me off into that hand also since it was holding both our thrusting cocks. The only thing wrong with that shower was that it washed most of the gift away before I could lick it and roll it around on both our tongues (the way we do now after a hand session)."

Since that first time was over so quickly, we made our first mutual agreement... that we would continue later in bed. Afterwards we talked and talked. About what it was like to be Rog and never know hands and feet. Of what it was like to be Rick and wake up to find them missing. Of how cocky Rick had, despite all the bravado, been so upset with his new body that he, the champion stud of his generation, had not sex since his accident.

This had been a kind of first time for him, too.

Eventually we decided to move in together. This was not an easy decision. Were we getting into some kind of co-dependency? When we decided "What the fuck, let's try it", Alex was planning the living units of Adam's World. Bob and Arthur begged us to move in. (They said, "Can you imagine how happy you will make us lecherous old fetish-fantasists?") It took hours and hours more of talking through that decision. Were we involved in the creation of some new kind of ghetto? "What the fuck, let's try it." We did. We haven't regretted it.

We both know safe places are needed for people like us. Safe places and safe people. We talk about that, too. When Rick's phantom pains are too much, we talk. Rog wants to know about that pain. ("It's the only amputee experience I can't identify with.")

When Rog's frustration that he can do nothing (well, almost nothing), without superhuman concentration, when simply going on becomes more than he can bear, Rick talks him through it: "Rog, climb out of bed. Crawl over and get your limbs on. Yes, go ahead. Do it........God, I still can't figure out how you can do that by yourself...

OK, now come over and pick me up. That's right, pick me up gently and carry me over to the mirror.... Now look. Look at that guy standing tall. Look at all that harness and webbing and plastic and metal. Look at what he is doing with it. He's carrying me like a baby. He is supporting me at the knees with his hooks. Where I end, he holds me up. He can do that. I need him to do that. Look at my one arm around his neck, holding on for dear life. God, I am proud of you."

"Now," Rick continues, "carry me back to bed and let me give you a hand. Yes, let me down so that I can unwrap you. You are just a like a Christmas present. God, the wrapping is pretty. It's so complicated and intricate. I know there is a surprise under there somewhere...We'll start with your arms so you can play with those stumps against my dick as I continue. Jeez, what a lot of harness there is. Ok, get those stumps working on me. Beat me up with them. Ok, Ok, if you don't quit I'm going to come all over the package. Let me at this belt business. I love the way it criss- crosses over your crotch. Yeah, there it is, there is the secret surprise. Let me at with my tongue. We'll save this hand for later...Need a breather, lets get these legs off. Let's see if I can undo velcro with my stump like you do. It'll be slower and more delightful that way. Lord, what a beautiful package. Lift that thigh now. Ok, I'll lift it. Let me get a thigh between the crook of my elbow and my side. Ah, the wonderful smell of you on these socks. If you ever leave me, and you'd better not, at least leave me your stump socks. Now enough of this talk. Christmas is here."

Then with both cocks in Rick's hand. We lie there fucking away at that hand. Rog is on top getting leverage on his elbows. Rick is using his stump to find interesting parts of Rog or help support him for better leverage. We take time out for Rog to fall on Rick with kisses. We roll, grinding abdomens and torsos against each other.

Our cocks are in our hand (for by now it is our hand). We roll back over to get serious. We are fucking our selves into our hand. Until we come in our hand. Then we kiss it clean with our lips meeting around it.

Our sex life is varied and inventive. We'll try anything. But we save the hand job for special events and for those moments when Rog silently indicates, "Yes, I need a hand."

Chapter 4: Being Normal in Adam's World

In Adam's World, we are called "The Normals". Our names are Norm and Norval. Put them together and you get "Normal" But the real reason for the nickname is that we can "pass for normal". With long pants on, no one notices that each of us has a below knee prosthesis, Norm on the right and Norval on the left. Our gait is smooth and normal. Yes, with long pants on you can hardly tell that we belong in Adam's World. So we don't wear long pants unless we have to. And we don't wear any kind of cosmetic cover on our limbs, either. And when we are relaxing we don't wear any limbs at all.

You see, we are both committed to Paralympic athletics. We met, actually, because of Paralympics and Bob's brace and limb shop. Both of us were fairly new amputees. Both of us had always been jocks. Zero body fat and a body like the ads in the gay magazines we both devoured had always been our goals. Lots of folks with admiring looks told us we were not missing the goal completely. For both of us, competing in the Paralympics became the new post-amputation objective. Bob had a reputation for making good limbs for athletes. So it came about quite naturally that we almost literally ran into each other at his shop. And after one look at each other, we made sure our next appointments were scheduled for the same day and time.

"What a coincidence that our appointments turned out to be on the same day again this time." With that opener by one of us (we have forgotten which, but haven't forgotten the rest of that day), we soon were soon talking about our goals and dreams. Conversation got to be difficult, however, because of our growing discomfort with sitting in that waiting room with raging hard ons. We had obviously noticed the zero body fat and the contoured muscles on the other. And it was hard not to notice the stumps, too. After all, we were in a place where stumps were the whole point.

We were both staying at the hotel connected to Adam's World because it was so convenient for clients in the process of getting fitted for new limbs. And so, of course, we ran into each other in the lobby and the restaurant and the elevator and all the other places we hung around so that we would see each other. And while we were waiting for the other one to appear, there were all those other men to watch on crutches, in chairs, in braces, with and without limbs. Not only the guests, but all the staff of this hotel were part of Adam's World. "This place is crip heaven", one of us said to the other. "Well, gay crip devotee heaven, anyway." (For we had both learned about devotees pretty early in our post-amp life.)

It was only natural, then, that we should have a drink together and continue learning about each other. It was only natural to soon move to the "my room or yours?" stage of friendship. "Mind if I take off my limb?", we both said pretty much at once. "Here let me help you," was the obvious response. The bed is the best place in a hotel room for that, of course. Good thing. The bed was a nice soft place to land as we knocked each other down in a rush to get to each other. After a good session of kiss and grope we finally got our pants off. Our next bout of rolling around was accompanied by the rhythm of limbs clanking together. When the rhythm began to increase in speed we decided to slow down a bit and get those limbs off. We fell into a game of tease - limb strip tease. Drawing out each step of the process of stripping, with tugs, just an inch or so, at a time, until we got a peek at each new part of all the gear that keeps a leg attached. Whenever a sufficient peek was gained on one leg, we had to get in position for the other one of us to get that far, too. Finally a socket was revealed.

And held up to sniff. Two hot and sweaty amps can work up a powerful smell. Then the stump sock was waved in a waiting face and grabbed by a welcoming hand for more strip tease. At last, we were revealed as we now are. The next game was comparing legs and stumps. Sitting there with Norm's right to Norval's left we saw beautiful muscled thighs, runner's calves and well veined feet acting as frames for another set of gorgeous thighs leading to stumps which were flexing in a wave to each other. One stump (Norm's) ended nearer the knee. And for the centerpieces of this picture there were two stiff cocks. "Other than stump length, we're a pretty good match." "Let's measure these cocks just to make sure."

They were equal, and we were equal to their challenge. They fitted in our hands. They fitted perfectly in our mouths. They fitted up our rears. And we also discovered that a stump fits neatly over the shoulder when one of us has legs up to get fucked. A stump also cradles a head when someone is down in front of you on his knees aiming at your cock.

"Well, that was the best fitting session I've ever had," Norm said later, "God, you look sexy sitting there like that." "What do you mean?" "I mean muscles rippling with every breath and the way you sit with your stump snuggled up against your thigh." Norval looked down to notice that his left leg was angled in such a position that he would have been sitting on his foot if he had one. And his stump was nudging gently at his other thigh. "I guess I do that unconsciously. But look at you. You're sitting there stroking your stump." And sure enough he was, gently massaging it. That was our signal. We each needed more attention. Legs and cock needed massage. And got it.

In days to come we heard more about the facilities of Adam's World - the workout equipment and gym, the pool and limb consultants, the massages (the professional kind), and the presence of good looking guys with similar interests. It was perfect for us as we started training for the Paralympics. So we signed up for a unit in the apartments around the private courtyard which is the heart of Adam's World.

"Are you sure you want to do that?", asked Bob. "You guys don't seem to need this place. You can make it out there in the big world in ways some of us can't." But we had talked about this in great detail and were sure of ourselves. We are amputees. The Paralympic movement is for and about physical challenges. We are going through all the effort and pain of training to compete for amputees. We are doing it because we are amputees.

We are proud of what we are doing. We are proud of who we are. Besides all that, we have access to all these wonderful facilites.. and we have lots of hunky amps to drool over.

Sometimes in our community gatherings in the courtyard we all get a bit personal. We don't tell everything about our lives and our sex lives, but we drop pretty broad hints. We, the Normals, sometimes talk about what it must be like for the other guys, how they compensate for or, more to the point, take advantage of the shape and functioning of their bodies. We get hot just thinking about that. "Are we too normal? Do you wish we were a little kinkier in how we do it?", one of us might say. "Not when you sit there turning me on with your cock sticking up from the cradle of your stump. I wouldn't change a thing," might be the response. "Want to do a strip tease?" "Yeah, I want to sniff your socket if we get that far. Anymore, you get me going so much and so fast I'll come right now if you don't grab me quick." "Like this?" "Yeah, oh yeah, like that." And Norm's cock will be firmly grasped between Norval's flexed stump and the bottom of his thigh. Muscles tighten. Norm grabs Norval in his hand. And we shoot together in the preliminary before the main event.

We fit with and into each other. We fit with and into this special place of Adam's World.

Chaper 5: Triple Play

Bob and Arthur asked us to tell you about ourselves and how we came to be in Adam's World. We'll start with how we came to be the Tim and Jerry you see today. What you see are two guys in wheelchairs, two guys with stumps sticking out to the edge of the wheelchair seat, two guys but only two (right) arms. Tim has on an armless undershirt because one arm on a tshirt flaps below his stump and bothers him. Jerry wears a regular tshirt, topped off with a harness for his below elbow prosthesis.

On second thought, we won't tell you too much about how we came to be this way. It's too painful. Too filled with the memory of pain from our accidents, memories which still haunt us physically in the form of phantoms.

Too filled with the emotional pain of the time after amputation before we found ourselves and each other.

Anyway, we came to be here in Adam's World because we met each other at the same Paralympics where we met Norm and Norval and learned of this place.

Tim was competing in a swimming event. It was what he had chosen to take on when he finally got his act together and decided that bumming around the country in a wheelchair, being tossed (sometimes literally) from one devotee to another, killing the pain with dope and booze hustled from devs in return for a roll in the sack... when Tim finally decided at age 25, seven years post-accident, to take charge of his life and stop playing helpless and hopeless. Twelve steps later ("Those are the only steps I ever needed to take", he says), Tim started training in earnest to compete. The water supported him. And the training turned him into the Greek god Jerry sees in the chair beside him. ("Well, some Greek gods have been broken a bit by history. They are still my ideal of beauty", says Jerry.)

Jerry, at age 40 and 4 years post-amputation, decided to go to the Paralympics as a spectator. It was just as much a life changing choice as Tim's, because Jerry had spent those 4 years almost totally in hiding. To face an airport in a wheelchair, to be carried by someone down the aisle to his seat, to try to manage to get around a hotel and the Olympic venues - well, it was sheer bravery in the face of terror (at least that's what Tim calls it.)

Jerry's next act of bravery was to wheel up to Tim, whom he had been admiring throughout the events, and ask for his autograph.

"You want my autograph? That's a new one. I've had guys ask for my phone number on bar matchbooks, but never an autograph. Why do you want it?"

Jerry stammered out something about admiration and how Tim was a symbol of hope and courage to him, giving him inspiration to go on. Tim noticed that there was another sign of admiration going on right there on the seat of Jerry's chair. A definite sign of movement. A movement which was quite automatically reflected in Tim's chair.

The autograph included both name and phone number. Jerry's third act of courage was to call the number. The town was full of disabled folks there for the Paralympics. Even so, we must have made quite an entrance into the only gay bar we could find with decent chair access. But wheeling in together made it ok. We were so busy devouring each other with hungry looks that we didn't notice the inevitable stares. "What are we doing here? Let's go back to my room." This time Tim made the move, something he had not done for years without the motive of a hustle. And had not done at all in his clean and sober period.

Once back in the room, it's hard to say who took the lead. We were out of the chairs and into the bed without much thought. Our arms went around each other and found what there was of the other's residual arm.

Together we made a complete embrace. Our leg stumps rubbed and stroked each other. Our cocks probed each other. Our balls met. A cock would find a stump or a stump a cock and produce wonderful sensations for giver and receiver. Who could tell any longer who was giver and who receiver? After an eternity or a moment (who could tell the difference?) Tim heard Jerry's moans and yells of pleasure as we both came against each other. And then he heard Jerry quietly sobbing. "What's the matter, baby?" "This is so good I can't believe it. I thought I would never be in anyone's arms again. I thought I would never have anyone in my arms - well, arm...again. And here we are, two arms making one hug."

And so we talked. Jerry shared his months and years of not going outside his apartment. Months and years of porn and escape and avoidance of human contact. "Finally," he says, "I took to masturbating in front of the mirror. 'I'd better learn what anyone else is going to have to look at if I try to get them to bed. At least, I'll know how the odds are stacked against me.' Then gradually I got used to seeing a triple amputee in front of me. I would feel up and down my body to figure out just how much was left. I would feel my stumps, all three in succession. And, you know, it felt good. And it looked good to see this in the mirror. It made me hot. So hot I jacked off much better than with porn pictures of perfect four-limbed studs. I would come all over the mirror, and laugh hysterically at the site of this one-armed-no-legged guy in the mirror cleaning up after sex. That was the beginning of loving myself again. I guess I loved myself into the decision to try this trip. I loved myself into meeting you. Now I'm loving myself into loving you." And Jerry started to cry again. Only to be wrapped in Tim's arm, his head on Tim's shoulder, one ear close to Tim's pounding heart. He felt one of Tim's tears of relief and joy drop onto his head as he fell asleep.

What bliss to wake up in that embrace. It led, of course, to kisses. First of tenderness and love, then of fun and oral exploration. Then, full blown passion. Mouths moving over our bodies gradually moved southward. Double leg amputees are in their element in bed, as agile as they are in the water. Before long our mouths were buried in a crotch, our good hand grabbing at the nearest leg stump for leverage, burrowing our heads into the nest of pubic hair, balls, and leg stumps. Each gesture, each new turn and twist we felt given by one could be given back by the other. We were the same down there. We could give mutual satisfaction. We loved the sight of the other. We loved the knowledge that each of us looked that same way which so turned on the other. We loved that way until we filled each other's mouth with the gift of love.

Now it was Tim's turn to talk. "I came to terms with it in just the opposite way, at first sleeping with anyone who would have me - for a moment of forgetfulness. But they were always able bodied devotees. And if they were ever really interested in anything beyond my three stumps, I never allowed them to tell me or myself to listen.

God, how I hated myself. In the melancholy of booze I'd tell some trick, 'I'll not last much longer like this. At least the county can bury me cheap. Half a coffin will do.' After I hit bottom (and that's an apt phrase who for a guy who is going to spend the rest of his life on his bottom), I told myself that I would just have to do without sex. I thought my only opportunities would be in hustling devotees, which, of course, would get me right back in the old patterns again. So like you, it's been self-love only - without the mirror, though. That was an inspiration of genius!"

"Ok, Tim, tell me the truth. How did you get to be so successful hustling devs." "Well, in addition to all my natural charms I had a little trick of squeezing their dick with my arm stump and letting them fuck what used to be an armpit. I was famous from coast to coast." "Show me." "Sure, for you baby, it's free."

Later Jerry showed Tim a trick he had just invented. He grabbed Tim's cock in the crook of his elbow and squeezed. "Turn about is fair play", laughed Jerry. And off we went again into triple play.

Chapter 6: Joined at the Hip

We are not actually brothers, although we have the same last name and we look like twins. We have the same blond hair kept short so no combing is necessary. The same complexion which turns to bronze in the sun. The same height, exactly 6 feet. The same eyes and facial structure. But it's easy enough to tell us apart. Kim is the one without arms - born totally without arms except for a slight protrubence at the right shoulder. Brad is the one whose right leg ends several inches above where a knee should be.

We are not actually brothers, but we have never been apart since Kim's birth. Brad's folks were both killed in the accident that took his leg. His only living relative was an uncle who was soon to become Kim's father. So Kim was born into a family with an adopted big cousin-brother. And a good thing it was, too. Mom never recovered from the shock of Kim's deformity. She spent much of our early years in a hospital. And she commited suicide when we were in our teens. Dad invested his anxiety and grief into making money. He worked himself right into a fatal heart attack a couple of years ago. And so we grew up pretty much by ourselves, Brad playing big-brother and protector from the school yard bullies and kids' cruel remarks. He had the best vocabulary of nasty insults in the county. Kim would whisper encouragement and suggestions in his ear when necessary.

It was easy to whisper in the ear since most of our life, Kim's body has served as Brad's crutch. At home, we walk with Brad's right arm draped over Kim's shoulder, the hand resting lightly on the right shoulder. Without thinking about it all, Brad fondles the shoulder, feeling for the hint of bone within the little bud of flesh there.

Brad's hop matches Kim's stride with the left leg. This is the way we have done it since Kim first got himself up on his feet as a toddler. "My God, you guys are really joined at the hip," Dad used to say. It was a good thing we were, too. Brad's arms were needed to feed Kim (at least in public places like school), to unzip him and wipe him.

And to shake him dry after peeing. We discovered that trick long before puberty. One day Kim said, "I can do it, too." "No, you can't." Yes, I can. Just watch me." He sat down on the toilet reached up with a foot, worked Brad's zipper down, got a toe in the belt buckle and yanked it loose, worked the pants down with both feet, then the jockey shorts, and grabbed Brad's 6 year old dick between big and second toe. That became a favorite game when we were alone (which was a lot of the time). Consequently, neither one of us has ever masturbated, if you mean by that word "self-help." We always had the other at our side or in front or in back or on top or on the bottom. By the time we reached puberty and discovered the joys of ejaculation, we had also discovered that dicks fit in mouths as well as hands and between toes. This was not a difficult discovery because we have always slept together. Brad's arms around or on top of Kim in some way. Kim's legs around Brad's leg and/or stump some way. Whenever, we turn in our sleep we turn inside an embrace. And almost always when we wake up, we turn two stiff cocks against some part of a body.

"Want to have a cock fight". "Sure do". In a cock fight, it isn't fair for Brad to use his arms or hands in any way.

It isn't fair for Kim to get up on his knees. The only fair fight is lying down and rolling and scrunching the body so as to get as much cock contact as possible. The idea is to make the game last as long as possible.

Sometimes we miss our timing and shoot off in the air before we get our bodies going in the right direction to get our mouths on the other cock. Or before we can get ourselves sitting facing each other just far enough apart for Kim's feet to find Brad and Brad's hand to find Kim. But there is always mutual victory, and it is signaled with a kiss. Then we are ready to face another day. A day of stares if we go out. A day of working together as one if we stay at home.

Home, of course, is now Adam's World. We are here because, after Dad died, nothing kept us in that little town where we grew up. We had plenty of money inherited from Dad and the insurance settlement from the accident before Kim was born. Where shall we go? For no good reason we picked this city. What shall we do? How about law school? We can both think and argue. What more does a lawyer need? With no more thought than that, we enrolled. But the combination of both school and stares from strangers was more than we could take.

We were about ready to admit defeat. Until we heard about Adam's World. This has became a haven where we gather enough strength to go on.

Our evening routine is study together and supper at home. We get comfortable without shirts and with only the belted shorts that show off Brad's stump to Kim's satisfaction and a sarong-like thing Kim has invented which fastens with velcro. This makes it easy to get even more comfortable later, but still allows us the turn on of undressing Brad by foot. Cooking is simple when you have at least two hands and one body crutch between you. Eating is not so simple unless you can get a foot between plate and mouth or you let Brad manage for both.

After more study it's bed time. And then things can get real serious. No more morning play. It's fuck time. If Kim is on the bottom it's a totally passive, trusting experience for him. There is no way to hold on. Just give in to the cock pumping inside of him with a stump beating the same rhythm as it bounces around, and a hand squeezing his cock. The room whirls. Shooting stars. Shooting cum.

But sometimes Kim needs to assert himself. He pushes Brad with his torso or with a foot back on the bed. At the edge of the bed he lifts Brad's leg and stump up with shoulders and lets his head fall down in place for some preliminary sucking. Raises himself up after a while and knocks on Brad's back door by flopping his cock in the crack. This drives both of us wild. Brad grabs for Kim's torso to pull him up for a kiss or down for a lick, just to cool things off for a while. But soon it's time to knock again. Eventually Brad guides the cock in with one hand and supports Kim's chest with the other. Then comes the work. Kim's legs strain with the effort of keeping balance and the cock in and the pumping going. We slip out more often than not. And that drives us even wilder. Brad grabs at dick or butt to get Kim back in as quickly as possible. Kim is by now sweating so much he is slippery wherever he is touched. Sometimes we come that way. Kim inside. Brad shooting up to that sweaty belly of straining muscles. Sometimes Brad says, "Ok, baby. Enough. Enough. Come up here on my belly." And then he takes both our cocks in one hand, slides an arm around Kim's neck and pulls us together as we shoot together into exhausted peace. Kim falls asleep first. Brad whispers, "My beautiful, beautiful fucker. You do it with nothing but dick and sheer will power. But, God, you can do it."

Chapter 7: Coming Together in Paradise

Let me (Bob) tell you about a typical evening in the private courtyard of Adam's World.

It is dusk. The air is September soft, but there is a hint of fall which makes you want to snuggle up against a body. And that is what we are all doing as we relax and talk and laugh together.

On the grass near the sweet fragrance of Adam's flower garden, Alex is leaning with his back to Adam's chest.

Adam's stumps stretch out protectively on either side of Adam's legless torso. Adam holds Alex in that position with embracing arms. Alex's hands wander about Adam's stumps.

Rog and Rick sit side by side on the garden bench. Both with limbs on their legs. Rog with one hook resting in Rick's lap and one in his own leans his head against Rick's shoulder to receive Rick's half arm around his shoulders. Ricks hand wanders gently over both their laps, sometimes picking up a hook and guiding it gently about also.

Kim and Brad are on the chaise lounge. Kim leaning his armless upper half against Brad's chest so that Brad's arms can surround him. One of Kim's knees is raised so he can play with Brad's leg stump with his toes. Kim's other foot is along and beside and over Brad's full leg.

Norm and Norval lie outstretched side by side on the grass looking up to find the evening star. Their legs on the amputated side in gentle but continual motion as each stump tries to find and caress the other.

Tim and Jerry, the triple amputees, lie on the grass, too, in front of their parked chairs. Their good arms are also in motion to read the other's legs stumps by Braille in the gathering dusk.

That leaves Arthur and me. I am in my chair immobilized in the leather and metal of braces. Arthur is on my lap,

murmuring a soft little "ouch" whenever his butt runs into a particularly sharp part of my apparatus. He lifts himself up with his elbows supported on my encircling arms to find a better spot. The change in weight and pressure is a pleasant reminder of his hooks resting on those arms.

This is what we see as look around at our friends. As it gets darker there are more intimate movements which we see more easily in imagination than in reality.

Rick starts a light conversation when the breathing gets a little heavy, "You know what we ought to do? We ought to make a video. The ultimate devotee fantasy blockbuster. Several of us have personal experience with devotee tastes. Right, Tim? And we have the world's most famous devotee queens right here in our midst, Bob and Arthur. It's a natural."

Rog takes up the game, "I can just see it now... Starring, well we might want to leave our names off this project, starring ...let's see now how many stumps have we got here. Let's count off.

"Norm here, One." "Norval, one". "Brad, one". "Kim here, zero technically." "We're not being technical, we're teasing the devs. You're two for their purposes.""Adam, Two". "Alex. Two, counting it your way, and a full two at that". "Stop bragging, Tim you're next." "Three for Tim." "And three for Jerry." "We've got a pattern going, three more for Rick." "Got you all beat with four," finishes Rog. "That makes 22 if my math is correct. Starring 22 stumps. Not bad for just 12 guys."

"Just 10", Arthur adds quietly as if he might be almost crying. "You didn't count us."

"But we have to count you, you're part of us," said several of our friends at once." "Starring 22 stumps, 2 full leg braces and 2 hooks. We've got to include Bob and Arthur.", decided Alex.

It was then that Arthur and I knew that Adam's World was truly our personal paradise, that we indeed belonged.

"So what's the plot, Rick?" "Easy, we start off showing what I know we're all doing now in the dark. Good long shot of each couple exploring all they've got with all the equipment they have. That'll tease the devs until they are almost over the edge."

"Then we show what each of us is thinking about doing next," suggested Rog. "Ouch," said Arthur, loud enough to be heard over the clink of his hook probing inside my braces. "That's not a brace, that's you poking into me."

Several minutes later when the breathing became really heavy, Alex called out to Adam. "Race you home."

And away he went on his hands. "There's our signal for the finish, guys," added Rick as he and Rog got up on their limbs and stepped out quickly for their apartment. Whatever, we're going to do next. That's what'll cream the pants of the devs."

Soon the evening hush was filled with muffled moans from all quarters. Punctuated by a yelp here and there, as each butt and stump and mouth and cock found what it was looking for. This was no quiet evening at home.

Next morning I asked Rick on his way out to work, "So what are we going to call this extravaganza?"

"From the sounds I heard last night, I'd say 'Coming Together' might be appropriate."

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