Grounded

by Lee G.

As he was going down the jetway to board Flight 1506 Frank noticed that he was noticing men again. He began to do some pleasant flashbacks ...

Yeah, this really has been a good trip, hasn't it? Let's see there was the wiry Mexican driver leaning over to wipe the dirt off his cab and bobbing his cute little butt around in the process. The rag he was using first veiled and then unveiled the stub of a brown arm just below the elbow. Then there was the kid on the street corner, probably selling drugs or (do you suppose?) himself. He had a stocking cap pulled down over his ears to set him apart from all the other kids with baseball caps. And, to really set him apart, a deformed foot in a white sock and sandal. His good foot was in a sneaker like every other kid's. Standing and leaning on aluminum crutches, he rested the deformed foot on the ground, angled out from the rest of the leg in tight jeans. But the minute he spotted someone in a car he wanted to make contact with, he tucked up that foot, flashed the aluminum of the crutches into action, and moved his body with astonishing grace. And, oh yes, there was the guy, maybe in his twenties, at the airport for the first leg of the trip. Big bull neck, football player shoulders that looked like they were permanently padded. Obviously from crutching all his life because his legs were bowed, frail, much too short for his body. They ended in special black shoes laced all the way down to the edge of the toe to accomodate deformity. His arms were too short, too, and strangely attached to those huge shoulders because he had to move the crutches on which he rested his armpits with the hands facing backwards, pinky finger in front.

And now this kid in front of me in the jetway. Frank, old buddy, you're making progress in your widowhood. You're noticing again. Not with the raging erections of yesteryear. But what do you expect at your age, anyway?

So let's look at this little queen in front of us. Surely it's a queen we've got here. Black leather jacket, a couple of day's beard growth, but trimmed just so. And perfectly pressed khaki pants. That's what really caught your eye, isn't it, Frank, old boy? The right hip in those pants just in front of you. It pivots around to carry the leg with it. He disguises it well, even in this narrow plane aisle. But he is walking on a prosthesis. Probably very, very short stump. Maybe even no stump, just hip. Yep, he walks well. He's worked at it. Thank goodness, I've been spared that disguising business. Another gift from Jim.

Think what the guy walking behind me sees. Tall, hopefully distinguished looking, older gentleman with a "hitch in his get-along." (Only we survivors of 50's television remember that line.) The shift in weight on to the peg enclosing the left ankle stump gives the walk a slight syncopation. And the thump of the peg, for example on this jetway, taps out "cripple" for anyone who notices me. Of course, when Jim was alive, no one noticed me. His leglessness and wheelchair absorbed all the stares when we were together. And, of course, we were always together.

That's what's made this trip so hard. It was a first. A first plane trip without Jim. God, how I miss him. When we were on a plane, he would give his standard joke about not understanding why folks complained of not enough room. "Plenty of room for me," he would laugh and scootch his butt around in the seat, drawing my eyes down to it. For thirty some years I could look at the vulnerability of that butt, knowing its secret treasure of the dick barely framed by the two stumps. I see it now in my mind's eye, and I want to reach out to stroke a stump and ... and... God, how I miss him.

Take your mind off it, Frank, look at the little queen some more. This is luck, we're going to be across from each other. He asked for an exit row, too, didn't he. Only way to get enough room to maneuver a prosthesis around in. Stumps don't like to be trapped in one position for hour after hour.

"Exit row better for you, too, huh?" Frank wasn't sure he was flirting or just acknowledging that they had something in common in case the little queen wanted a conversation during the flight.

"What? Oh yeah," the little queen said after he had lowered himself into the seat. He was short enough that there was room for his real leg and his prosthesis to rest partially extended in the area under the seat in front of him. The tight pants gave some hints of the joints of the prosthesis.

"Now we pray that we don't have to get up again for someone to climb over us into the next seats, huh? Unless, of course, it should be someone really interesting." Frank smiled again and knocked on the plastic socket of his right prosthesis for a little emphasis as he reached down to guide the pylon and shoe under the seat in front of him.

The little queen looked at him, noticed (obviously for the first time) the peg still sticking out in the aisle, and blushed.

Frank realized he'd better talk to himself instead....

Uh, oh, Frank, you've made a booboo. He is embarassed about his own leg and embarassed that you have called attention to it. He doesn't want to be associated with another gimp. Too bad. He's obviously never known the comfort we crips can give each other. That's another thing Jim taught me.

Ok, we won't bother the kid with our stumpy presence, Frank. Let's think about this trip instead and count our blessings. Like the fact that this was the best talk ever with brother Will. Probably the first real talk with him in all our nearly 60 years of sibling rivalry. And it is always great to see to see Mannie. How he loved that grandson of Will's! Only Mannie's pleading would have had stirred Frank enough to make the visit in the first place. Thanks Mannie. You made me take my first thumping, hitching steps out of grief.

Before this trip I might have felt guilty about thoughts like these. Disloyal to Jim. Close your eyes and see Jim again. For example, as he looks in that picture you carry in your wallet. In nothing but a jock strap, his muscular trunk and arms tanned from a trip to the French Riviera. And Jim is "standing" on his stumps, balanced with one hand on the arm of the chair and one hand cupped under the shorter stump. He smiles in his open and transparent way. The line of dark hair leads the eye down from the tufts of dark hair on the chest, down past the belly button, down to the tufts of hair peeking out of the jock strap, down into ....

Now you've done it, Frank, old buddy. Gotten yourself a hard-on thinking about your dead lover again. You used to worry about "getting off on the dead." But the truth is you are still alive. And Jim was gorgeous and sexy. And there is nothing wrong with remembering. And, and, well, you're horny.

Frank's reverie was broken by a tap on the shoulder. Frank looked up to see a real hunk of a guy indicating that he needed to get into the next seat. It wasn't convenient to look the guy over in the process of prying Frank's body and extensions out of the seat, into the aisle and back into the seat. But when he was settled again there was the pleasant prospect of several hours to appreciate this seat mate.

He was tall. At least six foot six. Not grossly muscled like a weight lifter. Not a slim runner build, either. Just good, solid man. His hands were huge. Would that be a sign that other things were huge? His hair was beginning to go salt and pepper, although he looked to be in his thirties. The hair was a bit curly. He ran his big fingers through it in a kind of nervous way as he settled into his seat. He smiled a return of Frank's greeting. A kind of shy smile that was particularly attractive on such a big, strong guy. His face was not pretty, but attractive and interesting. He wore wire frame glasses that accentuated the slightly aquiline nose. And the prominence of the nose was balanced by the strength of the line of the jaw, which was in turn complemented by the cheek bones. Who could ask for anything more? Well, maybe a little bit less someplace.

Frank's inspection tour of his neighbor's body was interrupted by some commotion in front of them. A guy was being brought in on a wheelchair. An older man (his father?) was helping the sky cap get him in the seat. They had some trouble doing so. Evidently the paraplegic had little or no strength to help in the transfer process. By the time the para was seated and the older man had said goodbye and left, it was time for the plane to push off from the gate and for the stewardesses to do their pre-flight routine.

When it came to the part of the instructions about the exit row, Frank looked at his neighbor admiringly and said, "Looks like you're big enough to rescue us if need be. Ready to play the hero?"

The guy blushed and smiled another shy smile.

Frank's mental processes picked up several signals from that blush and smile. He liked Frank's hint of flirtation. He had been caught off guard because, yes, because he had been looking at Frank's legs, or at least the black rubber tip of the peg and the plastic socket around the ankle which was also now visible because the leg of Frank's jeans had hitched up in process of getting seated. And because, could it be, just maybe, the hunk was showing signs of fullness in his own pants.

What a trip, Frank, my boy! Three cripples on the same plane. And the distinct possibility of a devotee sitting right next to you. It takes one to know one, Frank. We must test out this theory. If it turns out to be true this will be a red letter day for both of us! Not that I literally want to get in his pants, or him into mine. But if he is what I think he is, we can sure have some fun fantasizing.

Frank, in the most off handed way he could, twitched in his seat and hitched up his pants leg on the right side, revealing the black metal of the pylon and springs on that prosthesis.

Yep, he's interested. That was a distinct gulp I just heard.

Frank's tease continued...

"I'll bet you've never been of a flight with so many gimps before, huh?"

The guy stammered, "HH..HHH..HHHuh?"

"I saw you noticing my legs. It's ok, you know. After more than 30 years I'm used to it. I figure I'm a gimp for life so I might as well be honest about it. But what I meant was that there is me and that paraplegic up in front there and a one legged guy sitting across the aisle from me. Now what are the odds of that happening?"

The guy stammered again, "HH..HH.. HHH..HHHuh?", as he looked across the aisle and inspected the queen Frank was indicating with a nod.

"By the way, my name is Frank. Glad to meet you."

The huge hand of his neighbor grasped Frank strongly.

"St..St..St..Stan." The neighbor did his shy smile again, but with much more embarassment this time.

Frank's mental processes went into action again trying to decipher the new signals.

Gee, he is either really shy. Or I am so right about his devotee fascination that I've outed him. Maybe for the first time. Better lay off this game, Frank. Already you seem to have embarassed two complete strangers just by being your honest, crippled self. It's great that you're coming out of your shell. But watch it, buddy.

The hunky seat mate took a book of matches from his pocket and started fiddling with it, startling Frank with an off the wall thought that he was going to set them all on fire!

As he fiddled with the match book, the guy said, "SS..SS...SS". Then he stamped his foot and finished."SSorry." More fiddling. "BB...BB...BB....ButI...St...st...st...st..st..st...stut...tut tut (another foot stamp)STAMMER... Aw...aw..aw...aww...Damn (foot stamp) ...BB..Bb..bad."

Frank figured they had hours to kill so he encouraged the guy to talk. It was laborious for both of them but it was a good distraction for Frank. And he told his new friend, Stan, just that. "Look, Stan, I need to concentrate on something outside myself just now, so stutter away. I hope you don't mind my calling a spade a spade or a stammer a stammer, but I find it helpful to call myself what I am. It takes the sting out of knowing others are saying that about you behind your back."

So eventually Frank learned that Stanley's last name was Stanton, which always seemed like an especially cruel irony since the "st" sound was absolutely the worst for Stan to spit out. Distracting himself with objects and motions helped some. He'd been through therapy of all kinds. He didn't stutter if he spoke a foreign language or sang. ("C'est formidable, n'est-ce pas?") And actually he was a little better than he used to be. But mostly he avoided talking. As a kid he had done sports as an outlet for the energy boiling and trapped inside him - especially running and swimming. Individual, not team competition. Books were his friends. There he found a substitute for all the communication he missed out on in person. He was a poet and a writer. Working on a novel. And (would you believe it?) it was a story about a guy with one leg! He was a detective. With the help of his one armed lover he solves a mystery involving the murder of a crippled street beggar who turns out to have belonged to a wealthy family that he ran away from rather than face their continual reminders of embarassment about his birth defects. "BBB..BB..BBBBod...bod...body P.. p....p ..par ..PARTS," Stan called it.

This took about an hour for Stan to say. When he ran into a word he couldn't say, he would sometimes change to a synonym or near synonym between syllables. French didn't help Frank much. Or he would simply leave out a word and go on. Or use Damn (which he could always get out) instead. When nothing else worked he would write out what he meant on a note pad he carried in his pocket. For Frank, it was like deciphering code. But it got Frank out of his loneliness and memories. And, let's face it, they had some things in common. They were gay and devotees. Frank had the advantage of being an amp himself, instead of just wanting to be (as he bet Stan did). But they surely shared the experience of a turn on from a good looking amp. How could Frank let Stan know he knew and that it was ok? Maybe, it would be best just to be open about it.

"Stan, this is real fortunate. I mean being on this plane together. You have trouble getting stuff out of your head. I have too much in my head. Memories. We've got a lot in common. Want to hear my story? It's going to be a long flight. If you'd rather read or write instead of listening to me. Just spit it out."

"NNN...nnn..nno. GG..GGGOO a..a..aahe....hh.. ON"

"Ok, here goes. In case you haven't guessed it, I'm gay. Don't think that will shock you. Crippled, gay and proud, that's what Jim and I used to say. Jim was my lover. My beautiful legless lover. He died just over a year ago now."

And Frank went on to tell it all. Meeting Jim in the VA Hospital amp ward. The first time Frank saw Jim lying on the bed, looking so fragile with a body ending in bandaged new stumps. Yet the rest of him, was absolutely perfect and unharmed. Frank was already up on legs and beginning to hobble around the ward. He wanted in the worst way to reach down and hug this kid in the bed. To kiss him. To kiss away his pain. This was not the first time Frank had feelings like this, feelings that were distinctly gay and distinctly centered around men with flawed bodies. He had acted out the gay feelings with some mutual JO sessions in school and some drunken horsing around with buddies in Saigon. But never had he acted on his interest in crippled guys. He had just looked. So when he woke up in the amp ward, missing a foot and most of the lower leg on the other side, he was somehow not surprised. Everyone talked about his great adjustment. Adjustment, hell. He just liked being with all these guys with missing limbs. His pain was awful at times. But bearable. Particularly when he thought about Jim lying in the bed next to him.

They got to be best buddies. When Frank could leave the hospital, he decided not to leave town so that he could come back and visit Jim. They talked about everything. Everything but what their gazing into each other eyes was beginning to say - that they were falling in love.

When Jim could leave the hospital, he moved in with Frank... just so they could help each other and get to therapy, of course. But there was only one bed in the flat. Would that bother Jim? No, would that bother Frank? No. The first night in that bed, Frank had heard some sobs and sighs from Jim. Obviously he was having pain. Frank rolled over to comfort him. Very naturally he had taken Jim into his arms. He felt the equality of two strong male bodies holding on to each other - down to the crotch. He felt his prick rising to meet Jim's. He felt Jim's stumps rubbing on his thighs and sometimes his cock and balls. And then nothing below that. They held that embrace until Jim's pain eased. Then his stump movements became more energetic as if they were searching for Frank's cock. Frank rolled over on his back bringing Jim on top of him so that Jim's balls could ride Frank's cock like a saddle, with a stump on either side. And ride Jim did. The combined motion of their hips and abdomens rode Jim's cock into Frank's belly and Frank's into the crack of Jim's ass. Rode them into a sunset flashing neon colors in their brains as they exploded in cum.

That was their first time. It brought tears to Frank's eyes just thinking of it. And both Frank's and Stan's cocks were throbbing at the telling of it now...

"Sorry folks, this is your pilot speaking. We will be making an unscheduled landing at Crater City airport. We are experiencing some difficulty with one of our engines. Do not worry. We will keep you informed of developments as we know them."

"Looks like you may get to be my hero after all, Stan. Do you remember those instructions for the emergency door?" Frank looked across the aisle and noticed the anxiety on the one-legged guy's face. You could read his mind: "Shit. I'm scared."

Frank reached across the aisle and grabbed his hand. "Don't worry, Stan here will save us crips if we have to use those doors."

********

It turned out that the emergency exits weren't needed. The landing at Crater City was relatively smooth. But there were no other flights out of Crater City until at least the next morning. It took several hours to get even that much information to the tired and hassled passengers.

Stan and Frank had helped the attendants get the para into a wheelchair and out of the plane. The little queen across the aisle followed them as they headed to one corner of the waiting area. Evidently he had been scared enough to appreciate the human contact, even if it associated him with other crips.

Gregarious Frank handled the introductions to spare Stan some stammering and to explain to the others that Stan had trouble getting his words out. The para's name was Perry. The kid from across the aisle was Winston. In the enforced intimacy of the fright they had just experienced, they soon felt like they had known each other forever.

Perry was particularly eager to talk...

God, that was awful. From my neck down to my tits where it stops feeling, my backbone is on fire from being stuck in that seat for hours and then the tension of the last few minutes. How the hell was I supposed to get out of that plane if we'd had an emergency landing? Shit, I can't even sit up without this brace. Then my legs started spasming. Can someone help straighten me up? I'm falling over again."

Frank helped him, pulling him up with a bear hug, settling him back in the chair, and gently moving his legs into a better position to counter balance his weight.

"Gee, thanks, you must have experience with paras."

"Not exactly, Perry. That name of yours is about as ironic as poor Stan's here is, 'cause he can't do the "st" sound, you see."

Frank went on to tell his new friends about Jim and how they had been lovers and how this was the first trip since Jim's death to see his brother's grandson, who also used a wheelchair.

Then Frank told them a bit about Stan, with Stan nodding agreement and smiling like crazy and stammering a word here and there.

That warmed Perry up to talk about how this trip was the first thing he had done post accident without his father around to help him. He was headed for a rehabilitation hospital. He had to do something to get some strength in his arms and chest. He had never been athletic. ("Kind of sissy, if you want to know the truth.") But he was determined to do what he could with what he had left. He had to at least get so he could do transfers without help and sit for a longer time without the brace. ("It rubs my armpits raw.") Oh yeah, the accident. Car. Drunk driver. But the guy had insurance! "Can you believe it! The lawyers say I'm sitting pretty financially. Sitting anyway. Sitting for the rest of my life, except for when I fall over and can't even get myself back up. Hope you don't mind the bitterness, guys. But I figure I can level with you."

"Yeah, I get awful tired of playing good little cripple, too." This was the first time Winston had entered into the conversation. "I hate myself sometimes. Like today. Frank tried to be friendly and I put him off as if I were ashamed to be seen with him or something. I've spent the last 7 years practicing walking and hiding. Why? So I can pick up a guy. And what happens if I do? I'm too ashamed to take my pants off. But if anyone asks, I always say it's no problem, no problem at all. I have my cats and my needlepoint and my television. Life is just peaches and cream."

Stan said, "Gee, Winston." He said it without stammering and with the beginnings of a tear in his eyes. For the rest of his communication he simply picked up Winston's hand and held it in his own big hand. The other big hand reached out and just for a second softly touched Winston's bearded cheek.

Winston's voice lost its edge. "Thank you, Stan. Thank you." And he reached out his free hand for a similar gentle touch of Stan's firm jaw line.

Frank said, "While you guys are making out, I guess Thumper and I'll go up to the desk and see if they can tell us anything more. Thumper? Thumper is what I call the peg. Funniest thing. The other, the regular prosthesis seems so mechanical. It's a tool, that's all. But I've gotten kind of fond of Thumper. It's like a favorite shoe or something, I guess."

Frank found out that the airline would put them up overnight in a hotel. It was only natural for the four of them to stick together. When the luggage was unloaded from the plane, they picked up Perry's chair and headed for a taxi to the hotel. Frank and Stan managed Perry's transfers. After check in, they went to the dining room for dinner and, yes, drinks, too. Winston and Stan didn't eat much, but they devoured each other's eyes. When Winston got up from the table to pee, Stan stood to offer him an arm to lift up on until his leg was seated and locked. Then Stan followed Winston with his eyes, watching his pivot of the hips intently.

"Sexy walk. Right, Stan?" Frank asked.

Stan grinned his answer with that little boy shyness which made such a charming contrast to his rugged handsomeness. "Yy..yyeah..I llll..ll.lllike'em sm..sm...small,too."

As they paid the bill, Frank said, "Well, Perry, shall we put those two lovebirds in the same room? That means you'll have to put up with my snoring. And don't worry. I think I can lift you. You'll be heavier than Jim by a long shot, but I'm in pretty good shape for an old fart with no feet. You'll have to tell me how to do the catheters and stuff, though."

Frank's matter of fact approach eased Perry's mind a great deal. He had been worrying the whole evening about pissing and shitting. It was one thing to have a nurse or your father taking care of your rear end as if you were a baby, but an almost complete stranger was totally different. And a good looking older guy at that, the very kind of guy Perry had been interested in his limited forays into gay life. The very thought of a guy like that playing around with his dick and wiping his butt would have put his dick up in the air in the old days. Now he had to reach down and check every once in awhile just to see if he had a dick. Wait a minute. When he touched it, it felt a little bigger. In his head he felt excited. His circulation was changing. Damn. He was getting a hard on. Well, a mental hard on anyway. Even if nothing happened down there, he yearned to kiss this guy. His mouth still worked.

After he had made Perry comfortable in bed, Frank said, "Last call until morning. When I get these prostheses off, I'm about as helpless as you are, Perry. Walking on my knees is about the best I can do."

"We'll be all right, Frank. It's wierd how much I trust you already. I may spasm, you know. I thought I'd better tell you so you won't be scared if I start jerking around. You know, this is the first time I've slept with anybody since... since the accident."

"First time for me, too, Perry, since Jim."

Perry reached out to touch Frank. Frank rolled over to Perry and whispered. "Hold me, Perry. Please. During the day I do pretty well. But at night... at night I'm so alone."

"That I can do, Frank. Holding is the one thing I can do."

They dozed off and awakened at various times, still in each other's arms. When Perry would wake up, he would kiss Frank softly. When Frank would wake up he would be aware of an erection up against Perry's body and think "Poor kid can't even feel that he's got me turned on."

Towards morning they woke up simultaneously. Frank's mouth responded to Perry's. Their arms started wandering. Frank tried to remember to keep his hands above the chest where Perry could feel them. Perry's wandered down and found the erection. He began to work it, moaning and panting and giving all the secondary signs of sexual excitement, even orgasm. All the time their tongues were exploring each other, struggling to communicate months of loss and loneliness and need. Frank was near the brink. Yet he wanted to hold off. It almost made him feel guilty to know that Perry would never know again what he was feeling. But yet it was so good. Perry was so good. His mouth tasted so good. His hands were working on Frank's dick with such skill. He couldn't, couldn't wait much longer. Perry took a breather from kissing to whisper, "Come up here on my face. Let me kiss you off, Frank. I want your cum. I want to feel it and taste it and smell and hear it gushing out of you. Give it to me. Give me cum."

Frank pulled himself up into position and knelt over Perry. Perry had continued to work on Frank's dick and was now guiding it into his hungry mouth. That was it. Frank shot into his mouth and then out of his mouth. All over his face and eyes and ears and hands. Perry laughed and licked and giggled and whooped and shrieked and cried and laughed and whooped some more. And then his legs started to jerk. Uncontrollably, as if an electric shock had hit them. When the spasm was over, Frank massaged the legs and discovered cum on them. "Hey, I didn't shoot off all the way down here, did I? Perry, baby, you've come, too. Is that possible?"

"Yes, it's possible with my level of injury. I don't get the benefit of knowing it's happening though. But, what the hell, I've just had about half an hour of orgasm. You non-paras don't know what real sex is. You need a cock to do it. We can do it without one. You just helped me discover that. And we don't need a 20 minute recovery either. Roll back over here, big boy."

Perry didn't come anymore or spasm any more or even get hard when Frank checked down there just to make sure. But Perry licked every inch of Frank's body. He explored every inch with right hand and then left and then both hands together. All the while Perry was moaning. "God, you're like a bull elk in rut, Perry." "Damn right, uhh... uuuhhh...uuuuh..UUUUHH." When Perry's second exploratory trip with the tongue reached the stump of Frank's right leg, Frank shot again into Perry's waiting hand. Perry rubbed the cum all over himself down to the tits, whooping and shrieking and giggling again.

Finally, he calmed down enough to say, "I'm ready for another round, Frank, but I don't think your cock is. Thank you. Thank you. You've made me feel, well, like a real faggot again. Now hold me as long as you can. I don't want this to be over. Ever."

"Me neither, Perry. You're about as much man as an old fart like me can deal with."

As they held each other they speculated on what was going on in the next room with Stan and Winston. They pictured Winston's small body smothered by Stan's powerful 6 foot six inches. They pictured Stan with his head buried in Winston's crotch smelling a sweaty prosthesis. Then Stan unbuckling the waist strap and pulling off the leg, gently rolling off the sock, licking the stump as Perry had just licked Frank's. They pictured Stan gobbling Winston's little dick in his mouth until it was fat and swollen. They pictured Winston holding Stan's big dick in his hand, absolutely amazed at its size and strength. They pictured Stan whispering "Fuck me...Fuck me... Fuck me... Fuck me..", not stammering but measuring his panting breath as Winston entered him resting his hip on Stan's upraised leg.

"Good lord, you're sort of hard, Perry." Frank's hand had wandered down to Perry's crotch. "Just talking about sex can do that to you?"

"Yeah. So talk dirty to me as much as you want. I've got to develop my brain as my remaining sex organ, you know."

"I'll be damned, Perry. Not only do you empty me of months of frustration, but you encourage my extraordinarily dirty mind to do what it does best, fantasize. You're too much. Now we'd better get my legs on, your piss and shit out, and the cum washed off us so we're presentable for breakfast."

The breakfast conversation centered around the cause of the whooping and yelling in the middle of the night. And confirmation that their general picture of what went on in Winston and Stan's room had been accurate.

"Stan doesn't need to talk," said Winston. "We communicate just fine."

"C..Ccc..an t..t..t..t...talk bet..bet...bet.... Damn. OK...wh..wh...when I hol..hol..hold h..hi..his d..d..DICK."

"That's right," grinned Winston. "He says my dick works a hell of a lot better to play with than that matchbook. Wore me out, though. He had so much to say."

Evidently he had told a lifetime's worth of thought and feeling. Winston relayed part of the story since the restaurant really was not the best place for Stan to play with a dick and tell it himself. Stan had always felt a total disconnection between his body which had developed into such a powerful, strong thing and his insides which felt weak, frightened, and trapped. School had been hell. His parents, father in particular, lost patience if he tried to say anything at all. His only friend had been a kid with cerebral palsy, as incoherent in speech as Stan was. But his twisted jerking body in the wheelchair somehow seemed right to Stan. They understood each other. Stan felt good when he was helping the kid. They spent afternoons after school together when Stan wasn't doing sports. They discovered kissing when Stan was cleaning up drool from the kid's mouth. They discovered masturbation when Stan was helping him go to the bathroom. The kid's thin little claw felt so good jerking spastically on Stan's cock. Stan's strong hand felt so good when it had the kid's dick inside it. That's when he discovered his special trick to counteract stammer. (Although he must admit, Winston was better to play with when he was trying to talk because Stan could put one hand on a dick while the other traced the scar on the stump.) After college, he had tried gay bars and got picked up often enough. By good looking guys, too. But sometimes he couldn't perform unless he remembered a crippled guy he had seen on the street.

This had been amazing information for Winston. He had given up dreaming of ever getting a guy like Stan in bed - except in dream. And the thought that a part of the turn on for Stan was his missing leg - well, that was so strange he really couldn't talk about it now. Too much contradiction. The kind of body he wanted, Stan had. The kind of body Stan wanted, he had and was ashamed of. "Wierd, huh?", Winston ended his monologue.

"Wierd, but wonderful if you ask me," said Frank. "I understand Stan, you know. I'm a sucker for cripples, too. Fantasize about them constantly. That ok with you, Perry?"

Perry whooped again, moderately, but nevertheless a whoop, right there in the restaurant.

**********

The four new friends lived on the high of that trip for months. Unfortunately, what goes up must come down, eventually.

Frank visited Perry regularly while he was in the rehabilitation hospital. Just like he had visited Jim in the old days. And again, as in the old days, he arranged for Perry to stay with him during outpatient therapy, hoping to stretch their private therapy into eternity. "It's perfect. The place is already designed for wheelchairs," said Frank in his offer. "Only got one bed, though. But I don't think you'll object to that."

So their lives took on a routine. A couple of hours in the morning were needed to get themselves ready for the day. Frank's legs went on and off and on again for his shit, bath, and shave. Then he could help Perry with the first transfer of the day for the evacuation of bowel and bladder. Then to the bath. Then to the bed to get dressed. Then to the chair again. For Frank, these were precious hours. The intimacy and the physical contact plugged up a great hole of need he had had in his life since Jim's death. The routine did not have to become routine. All sorts of interesting things could happen in lifting and carrying and bathing and toileting. They could, for example, talk dirty. Perry could grab Frank's dick as it went by. Every step in the process could be marked by a kiss. Sometimes Frank came. Sometimes not, but he was almost always hard during these hours. Sometimes they would find Perry hard. It was always like a gift when that happened. And once in a while Frank would also receive the unexpected gift of Perry's cum into his hand. It made no difference to Perry, but it made the day special for Frank. One day Frank said to Perry, "You've really taught me something about sex, Perry. It's not about erections and emissions. It's not thirty seconds of rocket ride in coming. It's everything we do together. It can last for hours. Maybe it can last for eternity."

Perry was now driving the van to therapy. He was visibly getting stronger. His arms and chest were filling out both from the therapy and from the continual effort of using them to move the dead weight of the rest of him, in the chair and in and out of the chair. His first unassisted transfers were a triumph. Getting rid of the brace for sitting was a triumph.

While Perry was working out at rehab, Frank went back to his computer to edit updates for the series of travel guides for the disabled that he and Jim had published, the "Rolling Across" series. Perry returned for lunch, rest, and whatever else intimacy and transfers might bring about. Then back to the computer and workout room. In the evening they often had dinner with friends, especially Winston and Stan, who were also now sharing life in a home nearby.

Once in bed, when they had rolled into each other's arms, Perry would whisper, "Talk dirty to me, Frank. Tell me your fantasy of the day." Or he might say, "Tell me more about Jim, Frank. It's gets us both hot when you remember him."

That was certainly true. These night time sessions both helped Frank to release Jim and to continue to treasure him. It was as if Jim were a guardian angel hovering over their bed. "Aren't you jealous, Perry, jealous of my dead lover?"

"No. I really am not. I've got plenty of resentment that I don't have a living, working cock to give you the pleasure he did. But since I don't, since I've got to substitute imagination for a cock, how can I be jealous of your stories about Jim since they give us both pleasure."

So Frank would tell the stories...

You know how my heart melted just looking at him, Perry. That powerul torso just sitting there in his chair, particularly if he had no clothes on. He would hear me thumping into the office where he was working on the books. Turn his chair around to greet me with a smile, open arms, and a cock beginning to grow to match his stumps in length. And beyond the cock - nothing. Empty chair seat. I would want to fill that emptiness with my love. I'd kneel in front of him and impale my mouth on his cock. I'd grab a stump in each hand as if I could make myself into a prosthesis for him. And he would join himself to me in liquid form, spurting in my mouth. Like I'm about to do to you right now, Perry, love.

Or sometimes I couldn't help but pick him up in my arms. With arms around each other like dancers I'd walk with him riding on my upright cock, jostling his cock against my belly. I'd walk us to the mirror so we could see one legless guy and one guy on two prostheses pumping themselves against each other. The legless one hanging on by hugging his lover's shoulders. The lover supporting the legless butt. The legless one moaning, "Walk me, walk me, walk me" with each thrust.

Or sometimes I would thump into the room when he was already in bed. His arms would open at the sound of me and his stumps would raise up in welcome to join the cock already up in the air. I would kneel on the bed, and my cock would slip into Jim's welcoming crack so very naturally. As Jim snuggled his butt down on my cock, I could feel the stumps working in the hollows of my hips. Bending over to find his mouth with my own or lifting him up to meet me, our bodies became one living thing, bigger and better than both of us. It was not fucking like other guys talk about, it was unity, Perry. When he felt me inside of him loving his prostate, he would push himself with his stumps as if he were entering me through the belly button. He would pant and heave his abdomen and squeeze his butt sphincter he emptied himself all over both our bellies. That was my sign to give myself inside of him. Then we would lie together with me inside him until I slipped out in our sleep. When we awoke, we would still be stuck together with cum......

For the holidays, Frank and Perry made a visit to Frank's brother, and especially to the grandson, Mannie. This was important to Frank. His brother had only tolerated Jim. But at the last visit, he had apologized for the distance he had put between them. He had said, "I guess I was ashamed of you, Frank. It was ok when you came home from the war wounded. I was proud of you. I could talk about my kid brother, the hero. But when you insisted on us treating Jim like a .. a wife... or something. ('Husband', interrupted Frank.)... well that was more than I could take. But I see now your grief is as great as mine over Bertha. And you sure have been a big help to Mannie."

Mannie, now 17, had been born with such severe birth defects that a hemicorporectomy had been done on him soon after birth. He was like a paraplegic except most of the paralyzed part had been removed. Full grown he was a bit over two feet tall from top of head to the flesh suspended just below his rib cage where his colostomy bag was attached. Everyone in the family fussed over him, worried about him, treated him like a kid, recognizing only his size, not his maturity. Conversations about him were spoken over him as relatives stood around his wheel chair. Only Frank treated him naturally and normally.

Perry turned out to be another boon to Mannie. Their bodies may have looked completely different, but they actually had much in common. For the first time Mannie was coming to know someone who experienced more limitations than he did. "Gee, Uncle Perry, you'd be better off if they cut off the dead part of you, too. At least I don't have to haul around all that useless weight. I can get free of the chair." And Mannie proved that point by scampering around the floor on his arms most of the time.

After the holiday trip, Frank began to notice a change in Perry. He no longer whooped and shrieked when they made love. Day after day would go by without a request to talk dirty. "What is it, Perry? What's wrong?" Perry's only explanation was that he was discouraged. He had hit the end of what rehab could do. Nothing was going to get better or stronger. "All that work just to get in a God damned chair and sit. Sit. That's the only bloody thing I can do. That's the only fucking thing I'll ever be able to do. And I'll have to work like hell just to continue to be able to do it. It isn't worth it. I'm fucking tired of sitting."

There were other outbursts of self-pity. Frank would find him sobbing and unable to say anything but "I..I'm ..I'm just a bur..burden." Frank's response was, "You're no burden. But spit it out man. You're stammering like Stan." Humor didn't help.

Frank didn't know how to help. His heart melted every time he looked at Perry, just as it used to do with Jim. Rearranging Perry's legs which had gotten into some crazy position, Frank would think, "He doesn't even know where his own body is." Those legs, which never had had much muscle, were becoming more and more atrophied. The feet would flop obeying nothing but the law of gravity. The increasing contrast between the ever stronger upper 24 inches and the lower 4 feet of him brought tears to Frank's eyes and an overwhelming desire to explore that border between feeling and deadness.

One day Frank found an article at Perry's desk on penile implants. "Where did that come from?" he asked. Perry had ordered it from the library because he thought maybe he should get one.

"What the hell for?"

"Well, I thought maybe it would be something I could do for you. And you could, well, use me like a dildo. And ... Of God, Frank, I am the most worthless pile of shit. I am literally no fucking good. No fucking good."

"Perry, you are one screwed up guy. I don't want to be fucked by you or anybody else. And I don't love you for your cock. Get that through your head. I love you for your head - and your new Bette Davis shoulders, and your Junior He Man chest, and your arms that hold me, and your hands that jack me off. And, yeah, for your scrawny legs and floppy feet. But mostly for your head which we long ago decided was the best sex organ this side of the Mississippi."

"Well, maybe we could try it with you fucking me. You know like you used to do with Jim."

"Damn it, Perry, you're not listening. I don't want to fuck you as if you were a sack of potatoes. What I want, if you are worried about the bed department, is what I used to see in you - excitement. Anymore I feel like you're just kind of servicing me. I've got hands. I can do myself, if it's just a matter of getting my rocks off."

"That's just it, Frank. Something is wrong in my brain. If that's all I've got left to show you I love you, I'm in trouble. My brain has gotten as paralyzed as the rest of me."

"Perry, you are flat out depressed. Tomorrow we go to the doctor. This can be treated."

There were lots of stages in Perry's turn around. One was that Frank put him to work on the travel guide series. Perry turned out to be a whiz at dealing with publishers and correspondence and all the things Frank had let slide since Jim's death.

Another was Mannie. He enrolled in a nearby college and asked to live with Perry and Frank. When Frank presented the idea, he was a little afraid that Perry couldn't handle it yet - after all they would need to remodel to make another bedroom and it was still a little soon after Perry's depression. But Perry was truly excited by the idea. "One thing I guess I've never told you, Frank. Just my therapist. You see, I've always wanted a kid. I even thought about collecting some of my sperm. You know they can do that on us paras- with an electric shock I think. Or your sperm. Or - better - both, and finding a woman to volunteer to bear a kid for us. But I figured you'd say you were too old. Tell Mannie to get here tomorrow. I can't wait."

But the final stage in Perry's recovery was marked by a return of shrieks in the bedroom.

"Talk dirty to me, Frank. The old brain wants to get hot tonight. Tell me your wildest fantasy. Not a dull old fucking and sucking fantasy. Tell me the craziest sexiest thing you can think of."

"How about this, then. We cut you off so you're a hemi like Mannie, folding the skin up so your cock is kind of where a belly button should be. And then we get you that penile implant, the kind you pump by squeezing the balls. And then we cut off my legs at the hips. Got the picture? No legs in our way. All right, now you get me hot by scampering all over me while I'm on my back. You raise yourself up on your arms and drag your bottom all over me. You wind up at my butt and start to suck me off, pumping up that living dildo with one hand as you do. You test it to make sure it's stiff and then you creep forward so that it goes into me, sucking me off all the time. You're sucking me and fucking simultaneously. It drives me wild and I come to you just as you hit the magic button inside me. How's that?"

Perry moaned and panted agreement. "That's .. that's .. goo .. good. Talk me ... through ... through .. it ...again. Help me down.. to you." And so Frank came, finger fucked and sucked into Perry's hungry mouth, followed by yelps of pleasure that had been trapped inside Perry for months.

**************

As Perry began to recover his joy in living, Stan began hanging around their house more and more. "Where's Winston? He not with you tonight, Stan?"

"N..N...N....NO. W..w..w...w..w...w..w..w..wi..wwwwiii....WITH f.f....f...ff....fffuu....fffuuuuhhhh.....fu...uu...uhh..uh..rr..rr...rr...fuhuhr....DAMN PEOPLE."

"His designer friends, huh. They too much for you Stan? You're so nervous you can't talk at all tonight. How's your German? Would that work or am I going to have to give you my dick to hold."

"Yeah, you could. He won't feel a thing," said Frank with a twinkle in his eye and voice.

"Sie sprechen immer."

By guesswork, mime, polyglot languages, and stammered cues, Perry and Frank got the idea that Winston was tired of hanging around cripples. Wanted to be with his able bodied colleagues at smart gay dinner parties which consisted mostly of talk - gossip, and dishing, and bragging about getting laid. Stan could do nothing at these parties but smile and look pretty. Winston liked to show him off but got mad as hell when he found him dozing off instead of being on show. There was a lot of drinking at these parties. If Stan had a couple of drinks he would try to talk and become more incoherent than usual, capable only of a string of fucks and damns. "Winston wants me to be a God damned fucking bloody trophy to show he can make it with non-crips." Stan was practically screaming with rage when he reached that line.

"Got that out without much trouble, Stan."

"HH...HHappens wh..when I gg..get rr.rr..reall..ly MAD."

"Maybe you should get mad more often. See how much better you're doing already."

"Th.Thanks g.guys"

After this kind of evening had happened with some regularity. Stan started asking for something else. Could he bring some of his stuff and pretend at their place? Winston had come back from a party and found Stan on an old pair of crutches. A terrible scene had followed with Stan trying to get in Winston's pants for the comfort of his dick as he tried to explain himself. Winston tried to get away and fell down, breaking his prosthesis. Now Winston refused to talk about it. Almost refused to talk to him at all.

Stan quickly accumulated a lot of equipment, using an inheritance from a distant relative so that Winston wouldn't know. He became a regular pretender in combinations of hooks and braces and crutches, also borrowing Frank's spare chair. He said he felt more relaxed when he was pretending, more like himself. And flexing a hook open and closed helped with the stutter, too.

Winston made an attempt to make up. Stan reported that he had said, "I'm ashamed of myself, Stan. But I can't seem to help it. When you pretend, it's like you want us both to be crippled. And I don't want either one of us to be. Like even I'm not crippled enough for you. And all I want is to be normal. Why can't we be normal. Why, Stan?"

"CC..ccause ww..we're nn...nn..nnn..nnot, W..Winnie."

The next step came with Stan's answering an ad for an attendant to assist a quad enrolling at the university. Winston, without liking the idea at all, finally said it might be a good idea for Stan to get this out of his system once and for all. Taking care of a quad ought to do it. At least that was the spin he put on the subject when Frank and Perry called because they hadn't seen much of Stan and Winston for awhile.

Stan would work on his own writing in the library while the kid was in class. The rest of the day was pretty much occupied with the kid's (his name was Les) needs. Then after getting Les settled for the night he would get home about the time Winston returned from an opening or a charity event or a party. Stan seemed in a lot better spirits when Frank or Perry saw him with Les. Since Mannie was also enrolled, the uncles were on campus quite a bit, too.

Winston was not in good spirits, however. He was drinking too much. So much that he lost his balance many nights. That only made him more embarassed and anxious for a drink. He seemed to be losing clients, too. He was gaining a reputation of being difficult and bitchy.

"Stan, you've got to do something," Frank said.

"Wh..Wh..What?"

"Confront him. We'll help."

The intervention was fairly successful as those things go. Winston, sobbing, agreed to go dry out. And, once in the clinic, he got some therapy. And also he got an insight. What he had been experiencing, he realized, was a kind of amputation of Stan from his life. He had been trying to cope with a new shape to his life, just as surely as if another limb had been taken away. He had been drugging his phantom pain, his pain in the absent part, with alcohol. It didn't work. And the fact that it didn't work, forced him, really for the first time, to face that his denial of physical amputation wasn't working either. Who was he fooling? He was a bitchy one-legged queen. "Can you forgive me, Stan. Can we start again?"

"I..I've mm..missed you, t.too, Winnie."

"God, Stan, I have had all these visions of you and Les, with his stumps up every orifice you've got. Isn't that something, being jealous of a guy because he's got more stumps than I do? Would you give up taking care of Les, if we started over?"

"Y..Yes. On on.n..nne c..con..condition."

"What, baby."

"Le..let mm..me p..pp..prr..prrrrr..pretttt. PLAY."

"Shit, Stan, I'll even pretend with you. Or try anyway. Maybe it'll teach me how to do this gimp thing after all. But I make one condition, too."

"Wh..What?"

"You leave at least one of those big paws free to hold my dick. God, how I've missed that. I don't care if this is a hospital. Hold me now."

So the equipment moved to Winston and Stan's house, except for nights when they would show up at Frank and Perry's in a role.

"Going to have to cut my meat tonight, boys. Stan's got me in two shiny hooks. He'll be here in a minute. He's a little slow in that new brace. He weighs a ton when he's on top of me in it. But it sure is fun to try to get through to find his great big cock. Doesn't need a brace for that. Neither do I when Stan the Man's great big hand has got my cock and stump in it, I might add." Winston giggled with queenly pride.

*************

One night they arrived demanding the use of Frank's wheelchair. Perry, who met them at the door, said, "Afraid not tonight. Frank's using it. He is having trouble with his leg again. It's too painful to use Thumper."

As a matter of fact, pain had become an increasing problem for Frank. Thirty five years of bearing weight was crushing and crumbling the ankle. The doctors were suggesting further amputation so that he could wear a below knee prosthesis like the one on his other side. Or crutches. Or wheelchair. It had to be one of the three. Thumper's days were over.

"That's fine, doc. For anyone else. But how am I going to manage to lift and carry Perry. Maybe someone younger could do it balanced on 2 stilts, or crutches for that matter. But I'm no spring chicken. It's all I can do now to carry him with one leg on the ground. And getting harder by the day."

After days and days of consultation, a young intern said, "Why not amputate Perry, too. He'd be a lot more mobile. And weigh a hell of lot less."

It was a brilliant suggestion. They went in the hospital together. Had their operations on the same day. Perry's useless legs were removed at the hip. Frank's legs were now equal in length, a few inches below the knee.

Their first view of each other's new body came with a look across to the adjoining bed and the obvious new outline they made under a sheet. Then came their first post op chair ride. As they pulled up to face each other and Frank noticed the emptiness of Perry's seat, he had a flashback of Jim. And a huge desire to pull that legless body between his knees. "Later, Frank. Later," he thought.

They had worked out some special mobility aids. Perry had what he called a body boot made to protect his butt and privates. It gave some support on the outside and had an aircushioned inside. Frank had ordered some guards to protect his knees as he walked on them. Both made remarkable recoveries, at least partly because they were so anxious to see how mobile they would be.

It was wonderful. Perry had no trouble swinging down out of the chair. He discovered the ground. He scooted himself outside. Started to garden. Pestered Frank until they put in a pool.

And at home, Frank enjoyed nothing so much as to join him on the ground. They were free - free of chairs and prostheses and equipment. Perry actually was more agile on his arms than Frank was on his knees. But Frank didn't care. The distance between them had been bridged. Frank did not feel like he was looking down on Perry any more.

To celebrate they threw a "Goodbye to Thumper" party, complete with burial of Thumper and papier mache legs in a pair of Perry's long pants. (All the rest of his pants and his shoes had been given to charity.)

Mannie had invited Les to the party. Being the two guys in wheelchairs in the Freshman class had thrown them together a lot. Plus there was the fact that Les knew Stan, of course. Winston seemed to be over his jealousy of Les, most of the time. For the party Winston came without prosthesis and one hook. Stan came in one hook and full braces. They had painted their wooden crutches lavender.

At one point in the evening, the four older guys noticed that Mannie and Les had disappeared to the darkness of the patio. "Better go check on them, Perry. They've had enough to drink they could wheel right into the pool."

When Perry swung his butt back inside, he was laughing. "They're ok. Mannie somehow got Les out of his chair and undressed. They've been skinny dipping. And now they are making out like crazy on the pile of clothes. It's kind of sexy to watch. Mannie is lying on top with his arms around Les and Les has his arm stubs up to Mannie's cheeks as they kiss. They are so absorbed in themselves, they didn't even notice me."

When the kids came in quite a bit later, Frank said in the most paternal manner he could muster, "Well, young men. And what do you have to say for yourselves?"

The kids looked at each other and snickered. Mannie said, "If we were straight, I think you could say we are engaged. Or at least going steady."

"Going crazy with lust is more like it," added Les. "When that man gets his hands on me, I just quiver all over. I feel like a cow with a full udder just waiting to be milked."

"His milk tastes good, too. You shocked, Uncles?"

"Not shocked, kids. A little taken aback. And a little worried for your futures."

"But if we turn out half as well as you four have, we'll be fine. We know some of the stuff you've been through. But you guys are our role models. It's not what's missing that counts. It's what you do with what you've got. Or as I found out tonight: Les is more. More than enough for me."

************************

The six of them made quite a sight going down the jetway for the flight to Paris. Perry leading the way on his hands. Frank trying to keep up on his knees. Mannie sitting in the same wheelchair as Les so that he could push. Winston and Stan bringing up the rear on crutches. Winston without his leg. Stan in his braces. Both with a hook.

There was no need for exit rows this time. Only Stan would have needed one anyway. No matter, they were going first class - paid for by the publishers of "Rolling Across France." They figured the six of them could find the holes in all claims for disability access in their research for a new edition. And it was time to celebrate how far they had come since Crater City.

Settled in their seats, Frank looked first at the emptiness in front of Perry and then at the knees which ended his body. "Like Jim used to say, don't see why folks complain about no room in airplanes. Plenty of room for us, right, Perry?"

"This is sure more comfortable than I was on that flight when we met... What do you suppose our friends are doing?"

Frank looked across the aisle, noticed the blanket covering Winston's and Stan's laps. Their hooked arms were on top, occasionally lifting up to stroke gently in Winston's beard or run through Stan's curly hair. Stan was talking quietly in Winston's ear without the contortions on his face which accompanied stammer.

"I'd guess Stan has his hand in Winnie's pants playing with a dick and a stump. And I'd guess that Winnie is fiddling around inside the braces. And that Stan is telling Win how much Stan loves him for playing along. And that... oops, Win just raised up his mouth and started a soul kiss that is going to last some time. My guess is they're trying to cover the sounds of coming. Their second honeymoon has started."

"And how about the kids behind us, how are they doing? Can you stand up on your knees and see over the seat?"

"Don't need to, we can guess. They've probably got a blanket, too, to cover the fact that Mannie is working on Les. I heard Les say to Mannie going down the jetway that he hoped it was milking time soon."

"Mannie could probably get all the way under the blanket and give him a blow job without anyone noticing. Uh, oh, looks like that hunky blond steward just noticed. Did you see his eyes pop? Their first honeymoon has started, I guess. And what is your hand doing under our blanket, Frank? Gotta tell me since I can't see anything but some movement. Looks like a mole plowing along under ground."

"Just what you think it's doing. The same thing yours is doing to me."

"And what does your hand feel?"

"Same thing yours does. Hard cock."

"No kidding? And I thought it was all in my head. I'm beginning to see stars. Better kiss me or I'll fall over and whoop."

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