Paris and Copenhagen on a Monopod

by RODNEY WELKE

This is about my most recent trip to Europe: first to Paris where I've been a number of times and then to Copenhagen which I had never visited before. The trip provided revelations I would never have dreamed of.

I stayed in a small, unpretentious hotel with a bath down the hall and when I registered, I asked to have coffee and a roll sent up every morning.

Sure enough, the next morning while I was standing at the basin stark naked, shaving before a very small mirror, there was a tap at my door and a young woman entered, wished me a bon jour and announced in French that she had my plateau--my tray with coffee and roll.

I looked at her in the mirror and wished her a good morning. She was obviously totally accustomed to seeing hotel guests in the buff and, with a small curtsy, she withdrew without having noticed--because I didn't turn around--that I had a hard-on.

I usually shave with Joe in that aggressive state, frequently making sure that he, too, is free of hair while I have the lather and razor at hand. It's really not all that unusual--I know several other guys who have hard-ons while they shave. `Joe'? Since my cock has an existence that seems at times to have nothing to do with me, I started calling him Joe.

The only thing that annoyed me about her intrusion was that she paid no attention to my body, which was a blow to my ego. I am what I consider exceptionally well-built--well, maybe I wouldn't win a Mr. America contest, but I could certainly be a runner up!

I have exceptionally well-developed muscles and just three months ago my upper body was the cover photo of a weight-lifting magazine. My problem with being a Mr. America is that, even though they don't have a rule about it as I have pointed out to them, they seem to prefer contestants with two legs and I only have one. When I was eighteen I had a pretty bad motorcycle accident and my leg was severed so close to the hip that they did a hip disarticulation. So there's nothing there, no stump, just a lot of scar tissue. There is a prosthesis for this but when I saw what it was I said no thanks. I get around on crutches with maximum speed and I've rigged a kind of monopod for standing on while I'm shaving or doing anything else that requires standing in one spot.

If you're a photographer you know that a monopod--the word actually means "one foot"--is a double amputee tripod. My monopod is one I rigged myself and consists of two pieces of aluminum pipe which fasten together to make a "leg". Because they come apart, I can carry them in my suitcase. The pipe fastens to a small, shaped hardwood platform that I place under my hip. The essence of simplicity. So there I was that morning my right hip propped on my monopod to shave. It is highly visible from the back, but she didn't seem to notice.

I wasn't in Paris on vacation. I was working. I come from a French-speaking family, and I have a degree in French and I have this great job with an import company because I know the language like I know my latissimus dorsi. I also speak Italian and Spanish, if you don't mind my bragging.

Was I a bodybuilder before the motorcycle accident? Yes. And when I was still in the hospital I was working out in bed. I decided I was going to be a champion one-legged weight lifter and I have won several competitions against guys with both legs. It only proves that you can do what you put your mind to.

On the second morning while I was shaving, there was a tap at the door and in came a young man. When I saw him in the mirror, I almost dropped my razor. He was gorgeous beyond description--the classic face and hair of a Greek god. I know it doesn't sound real, but when I get a sudden jolt like that, my balls literally jump. I can feel them move!

He had stopped just inside the door and said bon jour. Our eyes met in the mirror. He smiled at me and then took the tray to the bedside table. That's when my balls jumped a second time. From his swinging walk I knew his left leg was a high thigh prosthesis. A fellow amputee and one of the most handsome men I'd ever seen! Had he noticed my monopod? No, he was looking at me in the mirror and then turned his attention to the tray.

I readjusted the monopod and turned toward him and waited for him to put the tray down and turn to me. When he did, he gasped and his eyes widened at the sight of my hard dick. That gasp was quickly followed by another when he realized that I was standing on the only leg I had, my right side supported by the aluminum pylon. I heard him mutter Mon dieu! Il est amputé! and this was followed by a murmur which might have been `What a cock!' but it was more lip-reading than hearing on my part. At any rate he was still staring at it.

Then he recovered enough to flash his smile and say in French, "My compliments!"

I thanked him and said, "I see you are also an amputee."

For a split second he seemed startled by my comment, but he answered that yes, he was. I got my crutches which were against the wall near the wash bowl, pulled the monopod out and leaned it against the wall and, cock still hard, walked over to him. He continued to stare at my crotch.

"What kind of prosthesis are you using?" I asked hoping I wouldn't get too complex an answer, as this was a field in French that I had never explored. "As you can see, I cannot use one."

He was obviously disturbed and licked his lips nervously. I wondered if he were reacting and I looked pointedly at his crotch and noticed, with satisfaction, that it had a healthy bulge right where it mattered. Catching me ogling his crotch, he looked up at me and said he had to go that there were other trays.

I replied that I would like to see his prosthesis and could he show it to me--now or later, it made no difference. He glanced back down at my throbbing cock and said in a somewhat choked voice that he could be back a little after ten when he had finished with the trays, and with that he rushed to the door and disappeared.

I was elated. Not only was he a handsome man, but he was also an amputee, and for me that is a guaranteed double turn-on. I have made it with very few amputees but they were real turn-ons because I have this thing for stumps. I'm fully aware that it sounds pretty kinky, but there it is. And I've long since learned that lots of non-amputee guys also have this thing for amps and stumps. And, too, I've learned that because I use crutches my capacity to turn a guy on is more than doubled. Even I, an amp on crutches, get turned on by seeing another amp on crutches. Don't ask me for an explanation. I just know it happens not why it happens.

I drank my coffee and ate my brioche. Then I finished shaving, went down the hall and bathed and, back in my room and still naked, lay down on the bed and did some prep work for an appointment I had with a client at two that afternoon.

At about ten-fifteen he tapped on the door and let himself in. After locking it again, he stood there looking at me, naked, on the bed.

I packed my briefcase, closed it and put it on the floor beside the bed as he started undressing. When he had removed his shirt and undershirt, he came over to the bed and, after undoing his belt and unzipping his fly pulled both pants and shorts down to his knees. I looked at his prosthesis with interest and curiosity. He then sat on the bed. He hadn't said a word until now.

"This is my artificial leg," he said in French. "It is not too comfortable, but it is the best I can afford. They are very expensive." I noted that it was held on with a strap around his waist. It even looked uncomfortable. I also noted that his cock was very swollen and promised to be more than presentable.

"How did you become an amputee?" I asked. It wasn't really any of my business, but I wanted to know.

"I fell," he answered.

"You fell?" I queried.

"Oui, I fell. From the tractor. I was sixteen and helping on my father's farm. That day the tractor which was very old was pulling a harrow, the kind with disks. I hit a bump and it threw me forward and to the right of the tractor so that I hit the ground face down and sprawled and the tractor and the harrow ran over my lower left leg and mangled the knee. So this is what I have left."

He had removed the prosthesis while he talked and I saw before me an exceptionally fine stump at slightly lower than mid-thigh. He pushed his pants and shorts off his right leg, removed his shoe and sock and sat there looking at me. He had a beautiful body and his face was magnificent.

I scooted down and sat beside him. He seemed to be waiting for me to make the next move. "When did it happen?" I asked.

"Three years ago--well almost four." He paused. "Would you tell me about your amputation?"

I smiled. "I was eighteen and I was riding a motorcycle at very high speed when a truck came out from a side road ahead of me and turned into my lane. Another car was coming toward me in the other lane. I could only hope to pass between the truck and the car, but there wasn't enough room. My right side ripped down the left side of the truck while I leaned my upper body away, but my right leg was shredded and it was removed entirely."

"You have a beautiful body. Do you exercise with the weights?" he asked and then looked at my long, thick, hard cock. "Also you have very much between your legs." He then looked at his own hard cock which was curved downward and was only slightly smaller than mine.

I gently pushed him back so he was lying down, and he pulled his right leg up on the bed. I lay down beside him and started kissing his neck, slowly worked my way down to his nipples which I nibbled on until they were hard. I continued downward and did a rim job on his navel; I chewed his hips and, ignoring his cock, buried my face in his balls, sucking them into my mouth, the nicest mouthful I've had in a long time. His sac was long and silken and I pulled on it to pop his balls out of my mouth so I could move on down to the thing that had been beckoning me from the beginning, his left stump. Pulling it up so that it was vertical to the bed, I licked it and kissed it and immediately produced moans of ecstasy from him while he kept saying Mon dieu over and over. It was a wonderful stump to make love to and I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

While I was working on it, his hand found my cock and massaged it. Then he pushed me back and sat up, rearranged himself and, rolling me over on my left side, he made love to the place where I would have had a stump. It was the greatest!

It was hard to believe that in all Paris, I had found this wonderful, handsome amputee to make love to. We continued in that way for over an hour and then decided to end it all with a 69 to end all 69's. We could alternate between cocks and stumps and finally we both exploded at the same time producing a double flood of jism. It took another half hour to recover from our passionate amputation-created embrace. I often wonder if non-amputees have the slightest inkling of the tremendous added sexual excitation we amputees receive from our stumps--even mine which is no stump at all.

We lay in each others arms for a long while without speaking. Then he said, "You are American, no?"

"Of course, can't you tell by my French?"

"You speak beautiful French. You are a beautiful man and I must tell you something. You make love to the limb stump very well. You know that such stumps are very sensitive?"

I smiled. "Yes. Is this the first time any one has ever made love to yours?"

"No, but it is the first time I have truly liked it." He paused and looked thoughtful. Then he put his hand on my "stump". "When you were amputated, was it what you wanted?"

The question jarred me with surprise. "I don't know. Maybe. Was it what you wanted?"

He looked at me without blinking for what seemed like a long time, then he took a deep breath and said very softly, "Yes." I instinctly held him closer to me as if he were very precious.

I have mentioned lifting weights in bed while I was still in the hospital. One day one of the doctors told me that I was certainly a great example of a voluntary amp, and having made that startling observation, he left the room. I didn't know quite what he meant and dismissed the matter, but several months later when I discovered myself enjoying being stared at when I walked down the street on crutches, I thought of it again. Since then I've thought much about it, and I'm convinced that I subconsciously chose to lose my leg. And now this gorgeous Frenchman was telling me he had consciously made the choice.

"Please, tell me about it," I urged quietly.

He looked out into the room and seemed to think of a way to begin. "When I was very young, I wanted very much to have only one leg. Having two seemed wrong and not the way I should be. I would hold my left leg up in back of me and hop around, and my father used to shout at me to stop because it annoyed him. He didn't know what I was thinking, but I'd stop. I would play in the summer time out in a field with a tree branch for a crutch, pretending I had only my right leg. By the time I was twelve I had started planning ways to get rid of my leg."

I interrupted. "Had you ever seen an amputee?"

"No, never. I just knew that two legs were wrong. I had all kinds of ideas for losing my leg, but they were no good.

"Then on the day that I first drove the old tractor, I got the idea. The rear wheels had no tires but had great iron teeth on them and I realized that if I could get under one with my left leg, the weight of the tractor and the teeth would destroy my leg.

"So when I was in some rough land, I jumped ahead of the tractor, got my left leg in the way and the wheel ran over it and the disks, too, ran over it and I lay there wondering what to do next. The pain was bad but I had succeeded!

"I was bleeding very much so I tore my shirt off and tied it around the upper portion of my leg and that stopped some bleeding and I looked at my leg which was completely without feeling and saw that it was very bad.

"I don't know how long I lay there, the tractor had driven itself into a ravine and stopped. I think I lost my consciousness because the next thing I knew was my father yelling for help. People ran to me and carried me back maybe a kilometer to the house. Then they drove me into town to the hospital.

"In the hospital I met another amputee, a man about in his mid-twenties. When I first saw him, he was walking down the corridor and came to my door on crutches and said he had heard I was another one. He was wearing a hospital robe and I saw he was walking on his left leg. Seeing him on crutches gave me a big jolt and I suddenly knew that I had a sexual desire for him.

"He came in and asked me if I wanted to see where they had cut his leg off and I said yes and he was staring at the bed covers and he could see that I had an erection. So he opened his robe and he had nothing on underneath. Actually the first thing I looked at was his cock which was getting hard. Then he raised his stump which was very short and waved it at me. Then he asked me if I thought he was exciting. I said yes.

"After that he came in to see me several times each day and he wanted to see my stump but it was bandaged but he looked at it with the bandages on. And he said that after he first saw me, he would masturbate pretending we were together. I told him I had done the same thing. Then he was released and I've never seen him again. I learned his name but did not know where he lived.

"When I got out of the hospital, I went back home and stayed there helping my father until just eight months ago. After a big argument with my parents, I came to Paris.

"Because I have this leg I got this job, and I found a friend to live with. We met on the street. I prefer to go without the leg like you, but I work as a waiter and need my hands free. But you know--" he paused and broke away from me and sat up. "when I look at my stump, I think that now I am myself. Now I am the way I'm supposed to be. Can you understand that feeling of finally being whole because you got rid of part of your body which didn't belong?"

"You have described the way I feel. Exactly. It was as if the loss of my right leg was a preliminary goal that I achieved and that everything would then fall into place."

"Yes. I understand."

I was greatly interested in this young man. Seriously interested and I didn't even know his name. I realized that I would have been delighted to take him back home with me. Would it have been possible? I don't know.

He never asked me for my name. He just got up, put on his clothes and prosthesis, looked fondly at me, thanked me, kissed me and left me standing there feeling bereft.

I didn't leave Paris until the next day, but he didn't bring my coffee up. The same young woman did but I was dressed, hoping it would be him and we could have a sort of farewell chat without our nude bodies getting in the way.

My next stop was Copenhagen where I'd never been before, but we had a new account and it was up to me to investigate and get things established. They speak English everywhere--at least in Copenhagen--so I was not inconvenienced by ignorance of their language.

I had been there three days and when I wasn't talking to exporters I was thinking about my amputee friend in Paris and wondering if there were an amputee like that in Copenhagen. I was obviously hotter than a firecracker--my morning shaves were rigidly attended by my hard cock. The same waiter brought my tray to me every morning and saw me poised on my monopod, hard cock pulsing in time with its own distant drummer. He was impervious, bored. It must have been all that Danish porn.

The fourth morning when he arrived I told him I would like to contact an amputee Dane and find out about amputees in Denmark.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because in case you hadn't noticed, I'm an amputee and therefore I would like to have some information on amputees in Denmark." I was really pissed off at the surly bastard. "Do you know anyone in Copenhagen who's an amputee?"

He gave me a look bordering on disgust and replied with complete lack of interest in the negative, but that he thought maybe one of the helpers in the kitchen had a brother or cousin or uncle who had lost an arm or a leg, he didn't know which.

"Could I contact him? I would like to talk to him," I said.

"I'll ask. But I don't think he'll be interested." The waiter was maddening.

"What's his name? I'll phone the kitchen," I was beginning to boil.

"Ragnar," the waiter said as he turned on his heel and walked out of the room. For a split second I considered following him and beating his brain out with a crutch. Instead I went to the phone and asked to be connected with Ragnar in the kitchen.

The connection was made in record time, probably because the waiter wasn't involved. Ragnar answered in Danish.

"Do you speak English?" I asked praying that he did.

"A little," Ragnar answered.

"I'm in room 202 and I am an amputee. Do you know what `amputee' means?"

"Oh, yes, I know it. My brother who is a little strange is amputation patient for two years. He does nothing. Sits home not - "Could I meet him?" I interrupted. "Could he come to the hotel and meet me here?"

"I don't know. You would have to ask him."

"How can I ask him? Does he have a telephone?" I was getting nauseated with frustration.

"Yes certainly. Call him. He will be glad to talk to you. He does nothing. Sits home -"

"What is his telephone number?"

"His number? It is the same."

I felt I was losing my sanity. "The same as what?"

"The same number I have."

"How lucky for him. And what is that number?" I held my breath.

"It's easy. 48-22-48. But he won't answer."

I considered throwing the phone across the room. "Why won't he answer?"

"My mother answers. But she speaks not English. My brother he speaks English so she will call him to the phone - "

"Thank you, thank you," I said, "and what is his name?"

"His name?" He paused.

"Yes, his name," I repeated.

"Oh. His name. His name is Nils."

"Thank you, Ragnar, you've been a great help. Thank you. And you're a great cook too!" The phone was on its way to its cradle but he was talking. I put it back to my ear. "What did you say?"

"I don't cook I wash the dishes. You eat from the clean dish that's me."

"Well, you do a great job, Ragnar, a great job." And I put the phone down, waited a second or two for a disconnect and asked the hotel operator for 48-22-48. The phone was answered on the first ring.

"Hallo?" said a deep pleasant voice.

"Hello!" I said, "Is this Nils? Woops! Sorry. Do you speak English?"

"Yes, this is Nils. How can I help you?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The contrast was overwhelming. I explained about being an amputee and that I understood from his brother at the hotel that he was and could we meet?

"I'd be delighted. You're an American, aren't you? Where and when?"

"Well, I have a business appointment today at 10 o'clock and I'll be finished at about 4. Could you meet me at 4:30?"

"Yes, of course. At your hotel?"

How convenient for me! "Yes, here at the hotel." I gave him the room number and we said goodbye. I was feeling pretty good about this, more hopeful than anything. Since I'd been exposed to the perfect amputee in Paris, I figured I might as well try my luck in Copenhagen. And what did Ragnar mean by saying his amp brother was strange?

The chances of finding an amp in any town is wild enough without also requiring that said amp be gay to boot. But what the hell! Push the laws of chance to the limit is my motto.

My business meeting at 10 started well, went through a superlative lunch at 1, and ended in a fat contract for my company at a little past 4. A great day's work and I was praying that it presaged a great meeting with Nils.

I had barely had a chance to wash up when my phone rang and it was Nils announcing his imminent arrival at my door. I was wearing one of my special suits made with no pant leg, but cut in a way different from simply having a ready-made suit with the pant leg cut off and sewn shut. What it really did was show off my basket. When he knocked, I went to the door.

There stood Nils on two legs but with his right arm missing.

"Hello, you must be Nils," I said. "I'm Rod Welke. Come in, please. I'm sorry I don't know your last name."

"It's not easy. Kjærulfsen. Nils Kjærulfsen," he answered and entered.

With Nils's first step I saw the swinging walk of a right high thigh amp on a prosthesis. Just inside the door we shook left hands, pausing for a moment to read each other's face. Then he swung past me and I closed the door. When I turned around he had paused and was looking back at me. I guessed immediately that he liked seeing me so very definitely one-legged and on crutches which emphasize the absence of the missing limb.

"Your brother didn't tell me you were a double amputee," I said.

"`Yes," Nils said with a smile, "a right arm and a right leg. I'm one up on you!"

"Indeed you are. I'll have to lose another limb to keep up with you!" I observed, "Please. Make yourself comfortable. Would you care for a drink?"

"We Danes are reputed to have bad drinkng habits, but I don't mind if I do. I would like a glass of burgundy."

I was impressed with Nils, to say the least. He had almost coal-black hair which contrasted with his light blue eyes. His face was handsome in a finely chiseled way and he appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Speaking with a British accent--European schools teach British English rather than American--he was obviously very well educated. I was intensely curious. The two brothers seemed to have nothing in common.

I phoned room service and ordered two glasses of burgundy. When I turned to Nils who had watched me carefully, he spoke up.

"It's rare to see anyone use crutches. May I ask - -" and he left the question in the air.

"Certainly, you may. Mine is a hip disarticulation and consequently I have no stump. The prosthesis for this kind of amputation is an awkward mechanism at best. I find I can move much faster and far more easily with crutches."

"But you can't stand up for very long without fatigue, isn't that right?"

Score one for Nils. "I have a solution for that. I'll show you." I went into the bathroom and brought out my monopod and demonstrated it.

"Quite ingenious," he said. "I wonder if - -" Again he left his idea unexpressed.

After a short pause, I said, "You wonder if - -"

"Could I have something made for my stump that would be similar? I would need a socket with an extension to the floor something like yours. I must talk to my prosthetist. Perhaps he could make me something. You had yours made in the states?"

"Yes, it was made in the States," I was grinning, "I made it myself. But it takes the weight off my left leg and saves me fatigue, as you noted." I sat down. "Do you have any statistics on amputees in Denmark--the number? The causes? How many prosthetists there are?"

"I honestly have no idea. Denmark is a small country--there are about two million inhabitants. What are the figures for the States?"

"The figure I have is an old one. Two out of every one thousand men are amputees, and one out of every one thousand women. But I suspect the figure is higher than that. Two million people in Denmark? Let's say 800,000 men. That would be 1600 male amputees. What do you think?"

"Perhaps, but I have no idea. I know several here in Copenhagen, men I've become acquainted with because I'm an amputee. They might have the answers to your questions. Maybe we should go see them."

"You mean they all live in the same place?"

"No," Nils answered, "we meet at random times at a spa. There's a sauna, an exercise room and a fine masseur who is a bit unusual because he was born without legs. To get a massage you lie on the floor. He's very good. Now that's an idea! Would you like to go to the spa and get a massage?"

Score two for Nils. "I'd love it," I said with enthusiasm. "Is it an amputee club, this spa?"

Nils smiled. "Not at all. It's just that they started going there when they discovered the legless masseur. Some of the chaps are double leg amputees and they feel totally at home with Bjørn. And there's something. . . well, it's not important." He seemed embarrassed.

"Maybe it is important. What were you going to say?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Nils was breezy.

Whatever it was, I was not going to push it. "When should we go? Now? I'm ready if you are. I suppose we should make an appointment first."

"It's not necessary," Nils said with casual authority. "We may have to wait, but the sauna is nice and some of the chaps will be there to talk to. They may have some of the answers you're looking for."

"Let's go. We'll get a cab. Is it far?" I asked.

"About a ten-minute drive."

I was delighted with this development. I was going to meet a group of amputees, maybe . . .? And I looked forward to the massage and sauna.

There was a knock at the door at that moment. "Oh good grief!" I said and started for the door. "We forgot the burgundy."

I let the waiter in. He was the same man I wanted to clobber that morning. When he caught sight of Nils, he looked startled. I glanced at Nils who was smiling.

Nils spoke to him in Danish, calling him Jens. It was quite clear that they knew each other, but the amazing thing about Jens was his extraordinary transformation: he was suddenly very friendly, very warm. What had I done to him to create the surly bastard I saw every morning?

I thanked Jens and gave him his tip after signing the chit for the wine. Jens smiled and almost bowed to Nils and then left us.

"You know him?" I asked casually.

"Yes, indeed. For several years. We're old--well, friends, you might say."

This was obviously a relationship that I could only guess at, but some of the clues were quite clear. "Cheers!" I raised my glass.

"Your health!" Nils responded. We each took a sip. "That's excellent burgundy. Jens must have selected it. He knows wines."

At that point I broke down and described Jens' behavior, but omitted the facts about my condition while shaving. I felt sure Jens would fill Nils in with those particulars. I made sure Nils understood that it was Jens who told me to talk to Ragnar who had a brother or cousin or uncle who had lost a leg or an arm.

Nils was not amused and looked gently disturbed. His only comment was "Poor Jens."

To an outsider we would have looked odd at that moment, as we were both standing somewhat uncomfortably to sip a glass of red wine. Nils looked at me and smiled wryly. "Let's get on to the spa, what do you say?"

We finished our wine and left. On the way to the cab not a word was exchanged. Nils seemed preoccupied, indeed had been since Jens appeared on the scene.

Once in the cab he took over as guide, talking about Copenhagen's history, although he hadn't got very far when the cab pulled up at our destination. A sign on the building read "Badeanstalt." Nils said it meant bath house. I immediately wondered if it was anything like the baths at home.

I paid the cab and we went in, finding ourselves in a kind of anteroom. Nils rang a bell for the attendant and while we waited for him, Nils explained, "It's not very posh and definitely not private. We get lockers and they're all in the same area."

The attendant had arrived and Nils made an appointment for me with Bjørn. "You're my guest, Nils," I said as I paid the attendant. Taking both our towels, Nils led the way through a door and into a room that was perhaps thirty by thirty feet and lined with lockers, although one wall had two rows of lockers jutting out perpendicular to the wall with benches between the two rows. There was also an assortment of doors leading from the room.

Nils said, "I usually take a locker over here," and then looked around the room at four naked men, two on them sitting on benches and two in wheelchairs. He smiled and greeted them in Danish and then, still in Danish, introduced me to Martin, Klas, Sven and Evert. I noted that Martin was a non-amputee, Klas was a left AK, Sven an AK and BK and Evert a DAK.

They all acknowledged the introduction and I heard a mixture of Danish and English. The sight of three nude amputees was very exciting and I realized Joe was beginning to feel expansive which made my balls whistle.

Nils led the way to a corner of the room and chose locker 210. I took the one beside it and noted that the number was 5. I pointed this out to Nils.

"They're all random. The one on the other side of mine is 52 and next to yours is 86. I suspect they were salvaged from some gymnastic hall."

We had hardly started undressing when the attendant arrived with a wheelchair for Nils.

"When did you order the chair? I didn't notice." I inquired.

Nils grinned. "I didn't order it. I'm here so often that he just brings it to me. It's special. The wheels are independent but there's a device that connects them to the same axel so that I can run it with one hand."

Score three for Nils. "You think of everything!"

"Remember your saying that to catch up with me you'd have to lose another limb? If you really had to make a choice of limb to lose, which would it be?"

"How long do I get to think it over before I give you my answer?"

"Tell me in the cab going back to the hotel."

"You got it!" I said. "Incidentally, is there a sauna or steam bath here?"

"Right over there," Nils said, pointing to a door not far from the door by which we entered.

It didn't take long to undress, although I was worried about Joe's state. The attendant had stayed to help undress Nils and had got him stripped down to his artifcial leg and seated in the chair.

I was sitting on the bench looking at Nils, both of us naked as newborn babies.

Nils had a handsome body made more handsome, of course, because of the small right arm stump and the prosthesis. He was staring at me with interest.

"Rod," Nils said quietly, "back at the hotel I started to say something and then I changed my mind. No. Actually I started to say two different things. Now I'm going to go through with one of them. The other will have to wait. I have a rather odd request. I would like to see where your stump would be if you had one."

"On one condition," I replied. "That you show me yours. Both of them. In detail." I rose, poised myself on my crutches and stood directly in front of him, but with my back to the room because Joe was misbehaving.

Nils looked with more than passing interest at my cock and then turned his attention to the scars left by the disarticulation. "May I?" he said and held out his hand to touch the area.

"Of course," I replied. Nils very carefully and almost lovingly touched and stroked the entire area. Joe rapidly completed his activity, and when he was throbbing hard, Nils stopped touching my "stump" and felt my cock and then kissed the tip of it. That was all I needed.

"What was the second thing you wanted to say?" I asked.

"I have just said it," Nils replied. "And I think I'll say it again in case you didn't hear me the first time." And he kissed the tip of my cock again. At that point I noticed that all talk had ceased in the room. I turned to look at the guys. They were all watching in silence with smiles on their faces. One of them winked at me.

I looked into Nils' crotch and saw a generous serving of hard cock which stood stiff up at an angle to his abdomen. I glanced back at the silent voyeurs. They were fondling their own hard dongs as they watched us. I sat down again and Nils said, "Do you see that door over there? That's a room with several beds. Are you ready for that or do you want your massage first?"

Hardly had he said the word `massage' when Bjørn came in. Having no legs he used his arms as crutches and swung his hind end along. He stopped and looked around the room and then spotted me as the only one he didn't know. "Are you ready for your massage?"

When he caught sight of me and Joe, he said something in Danish to the others who laughed heartily. When Nils could stop laughing he said, "Bjørn said that it was quite evident that part of you was ready to be massaged, but was the rest of you." I looked at Nils with a question mark. "Go on. I can wait. I have lots of company." And then he turned to Bjørn and said something in Danish which made everyone laugh, including Bjørn who answered in Danish and got another laugh. This time I looked at Nils with raised eyebrows. "Ask Bjørn to tell you what I said."

So Bjørn and I went off through another door into the massage room with no table. Bjørn closed the door, motioned to the sheet-covered pad on the floor. As I lay down, I said, "OK, Bjørn, what did Nils say?"

Smiling, Bjørn said, "He told me to leave the largest and best piece for him and I told him he could have your behind because I wanted what was before." Nothing like being introduced to Danish porno humor by having your butt be the butt of it!

When I lay down, Joe was still active, but Bjørn's massage was deep and penetrating and Joe was lulled to sleep until Bjørn woke him up by massaging my balls.

I looked at the masseur. "What a pity you don't give a massage while naked. You must be very handsome under that white jacket."

"I am something like you. You lift the weights? Yes. Because I walk on my hands, I have shoulders like yours." And he stopped massaging my balls and took off his jacket. He was wearing only a kind of shorts that were sewn completely closed underneath, and it was more than evident that he had a hard cock inside. "You want to see everything?"

"Only if it's all right with you. You have very handsome, massive shoulders," I commented.

He lay on his back and took off his shorts and then told me to look, which I did. On either side of his cock and balls, the area looked like my "stump"--scars and uneven flesh.

"You look like me," I said, "only you lost both legs at the hips."

"I was born with a part of a foot on my left side and pieces of bone on the right. They were removed when I was almost five years old. I am lucky to have the penis and testes."

I looked at his hard cock. "You've got a lot going for you," I said taking his thick cock in my fist. "Nice balls, too," I added as I toyed with them.

"We are through with the massage. I return you to Nils. Have you known him long?"

"No, we only just met today."

"His name is very well-known, but people don't recognize him. He is writer of many books. Some are about international law and some are detective books with murders and other things. I have never heard how he lost his arm and leg. Perhaps he will tell you." And Bjørn stopped there. Naturally my curiosity was as aroused as my sex urge.

I sat up and leaned over and hugged Bjørn and then got up. "Bjørn, that was the best massage I've ever had. Thank you. I expect to be in Copenhagen at least two more days, so don't be surprised if you see me again."

When I got back to the locker room, things hadn't changed much. Nils was sitting in his chair talking to the two amputees in their chairs, but the non-amp and left AK were missing. I wondered if they had gone into the room with beds.

"Well, how was the massage? Did he leave your behind for me?" Nils said laughing.

I gave Nils a sly look. "He left everything for you. The only question now is the time of delivery."

"Later," Nils said. "I'm going to get a massage while you talk to Evert," Nils nodded at the double AK, "and Sven. They'll be glad to answer your questions, and I hope you'll answer theirs." With that Nils rolled off to the massage room.

"You do speak English, I hope," I said as openers.

"Evert speaks better," Sven said, "but I ask. I have never seen amputation like you. Tell me of it."

"Of course," I answered. "You know what the femur bone is?"

Sven looked at Evert who said something in Danish, looked back at me and said, "Yes."

I then gestured with one fist in the palm of the other hand and Evert immediately said something in Danish which made Sven nod. Then I drew my fist away from the palm and they both nodded. Then I pointed to my right "stump".

They nodded and Evert said, "But why?"

So I explained the motorcycle accident but omitted the fact that I believed I had wanted to lose my leg. Upon hearing the story, Sven commented on it to Evert who had sat through my narration feeling his twin stumps and producing considerable swelling in his cock. When I saw what was happening, I said to Evert, "You like my story?"

Evert said without hesitation, "Yes, very much. I find it most exciting as you can see," and he looked down at his hardening cock, "I hope you don't mind, but you are very attractive and the fact that you don't have a stump is even more exciting."

"No, I don't mind a bit. In fact I like it," I said.

"I love amputees and like to make love to them and I am myself an amputee for seven years."

"I too love amputees and I love to look at your stumps and at yours, Sven, and as you can see, I too get excited." For the umpteenth time that day Joe was fully reared and throbbing. And Sven was erected as well as Evert and I. "How did you lose your legs, Evert?"

Evert glanced at Sven as if for encouragement. "It was an accident that almost killed me. It is very strange. First you must know and you must believe me when I tell you that for all my life I want to be amputee."

This blunt and unexpected confession boggled me. First in Paris and now in Copenhagen! Is this phenomenon world-wide? And why should I meet two in two different countries just a few days apart?

"I am engineer building bridges," Evert continued. "This one day--I had dreamed of this the night before--there were great long pieces of steel and they were on a truck and they remove the bar at the sides that hold the steel on and I am standing there and one piece rolls off. I am caught by it at my knees just like the dream. When I come awake, I am in hospital and no legs and I look and look and say `my dream is true.' But what is most strange is that when I want to be amputee, it is only one leg. But in life it is two."

I believed him. And at the same time I began to wonder how a person can create something he wants and yet be completely unaware of it as I was. Do all amputees create the situation? I've thought some did, but right then I was beginning to believe that maybe all amputees have created it. I looked over at Sven. His left leg was off about five inches below the knee, giving him a good stump for a prosthesis. His right leg, however, was off about four inches below the hip, so that a prosthesis would be possible but difficult to handle.

"Since we're exchanging amputation histories, would you tell me yours, Sven?" I asked. Evert translated my request. Sven answered and Evert explained that he would translate the story for me and then nodded to Sven to begin. Here is Evert's English version, although not word for word. I've written it as I remember it.

"I was employed at a government generating station in northern Denmark. One night then it was very stormy one of the transmission cables broke and went down, so we were sent out to locate the break and do what we could under the circumstances.

"We found the line and the place where it had broken, tested it and found it dead because the circuit had been broken. It was storming very bad with much wind and as we stood there yelling at each other trying to determine what more could be done there was a blinding flash and I remember nothing more until I am lying in an automobile driving very fast. My legs feel funny but do not hurt and my friend is there beside me telling me I am OK and I think it is strange because I know I am OK and then I don't remember any more until I am in bed and my legs hurt very bad and my friend is there and he called someone and a woman came in and she looked like a nurse and they talked to me and I became terribly frightened and yelled to them to let me up, to let me go home and that my legs hurt very bad and I looked down and could only see outlines like you see me now. Then I knew what had happened and I froze and couldn't breathe. The nurse slapped my face three times and then I breathed again and cried out to them to kill me. I don't like to remember it because it was so terrible. But that's what happened. A cable had fallen on me and burned both my legs off. This was five years ago and I still have night dreams about it, but they tell me I will get over it some day. And it's true. It isn't as bad as it used to be."

I was moved and shaken by his story. If he had created his amputations, he certainly did it the most terrifying way he could think of. "You've been through a lot, Sven," I said somewhat uncertainly. "I had thought my experience was bad enough, but yours is the worst I've ever heard. How long ago was this?"

Evert replied for Sven that it had been almost three years, and that Sven had a great deal of pain, something I've had very little of, fortunately. I was interested. Here was Evert who had wanted to be an amputee and here was Sven who had it thrust upon him. How long did it take him to adjust?

Evert repeated the question in Danish and Sven gave an answer that was lengthy.

"I have never adjusted and I still fight the loss of my legs and I go to a doctor for it every week. They do nothing but tell me to accept what I cannot change but I refuse to accept it because I don't like to see myself this way and I don't like to see others like you and you (he had indicated me and Evert)."

"Then why do you come here?" I asked.

"Because I go crazy sitting at home alone. My apartment is very small, a small room where I live and sleep and a tiny bath just big enough for the wheelchair. Here is space and I can talk to my friends and we do other things I like, too. But I should be dead. I'm no use." Evert looked at Sven and reached over and patted his knee.

Here was someone who obviously had not wanted to be an amputee and who was going to fight it all the way to the grave. More imponderables.

I decided to try something. If it worked, OK. If it didn't work, OK. "Sven," I said, "did you know that there are people who are attracted to amputees? Did you know that right now somewhere in the city of Copenhagen there's a man--or woman--who would give anything to be with you and to make love to you and to like you because you've lost all of one leg and half of the other?"

On hearing Evert's translation, Sven looked at me rather strangely and replied through Evert that he never heard of anything so preposterous, although even saying it in Danish he didn't sound convinced. Then he asked something.

"He wants to know if that person is also amputated?" Evert said.

"No, that person may be just anybody with two arms and two legs. But that person could also be someone who is amputated. I'm amputated and I'm that kind of person. I love to be with an amputee and I have friends who are not amputated who love to be with me and look at my right hip where my leg is missing."

I got up and moved closer to Sven. "Pull over here." Sven turned his chair putting me in a position where I could reach his left BK stump. I took his stump leg and, lifting it up, I kissed it and licked it and made love to it. Sven went completely tense but gradually relaxed and gave in to the erotic feeling he was enjoying. I glanced at his crotch and he was hard as rock. I rolled my eyes over at Evert who was grinning. "Hasn't anyone ever done this for Sven?" I said and went back to the stump.

Evert answered without consulting Sven. "Not that I know about," he answered.

Without taking my eyes off the stump, I said, "I didn't think so." Sven was playing with his cock and getting very earnest about it, so I continued. And so did he until he came in a massive way all over himself and his chair. "When you guys have sex together, don't you involve your stumps?"

Evert grinned. "I do when I'm alone, but not when I'm with anyone."

"Ask Sven how he liked that," I said. Evert asked and Sven, still breathing hard, answered that it was great. And from the look on his face, I knew that he meant it.

"I have another question, Evert. You said you wanted to be an amputee. Do you have any idea why you wanted that? And how did you really feel when you finally became an amputee? I guess that's two questions."

Evert looked thoughtful. "No, I don't know why I wanted to be without a leg, but I always did. And as I said I became without two legs. And when I was in the hospital I felt--well like I no longer had a weight--"

"You felt relieved?" I interrupted.

"Yes, that's the word, relieved. I had got it. I had come there. It was like a peaceful. . . well. . . feeling. It's very hard to describe."

And I now could add Evert to my list of self-created amputees. But Sven was a tough one. "Would you tell Sven what we've just been talking about? I want to ask him a similar question."

Evert spoke to Sven and Sven looked at me with curiosity a couple of times. Then Sven started to talk to Evert, apparently trying to explain something but had a hard time finding words. Then Sven stopped talking and Evert turned to me.

"Sven said things I did not expect. He says when he got over the shock of having his legs like they are, it all at once seemed like it was supposed to be and that was what he was fighting that it was supposed to be. He said it was at first bad enough that he was not like others sexually, but to also be not like others in his body. He said he enjoyed what you did and asked me if I liked it. But I've never had that happen to me so I don't know."

What could I conclude from Sven's remarks? The key word was inevitable. He had created his amputations and it was inevitable, and what he was fighting was the inevitability of it. I began to sense a plan behind amputations: that each amputee has created it. Was there a plan behind everything? Does each of us create everything we have happen to us? I began to feel light-headed with too much philosophy and it was a good thing that Nils, looking radiant, came back at that moment in his chair with Bjørn swinging along behind him. Nils had put his leg across the arms of the chair. It was the first time I'd had a glimpse of his stump.

"Bjørn, did you leave any for me?" I asked.

Bjørn laughed. "I left all for you, Rod. Where are Martin and Klas? Martin is to have the massage." Then Bjørn called out in Danish and a man's voice answered from the room with beds. Within seconds, Martin emerged with Klas the left AK who was on crutches. They were both nude and so totally relaxed it was quite clear what they had been up to and successfully completed.

Martin said something in Danish to Bjørn and the two of them disappeared toward the massage room.

"Have you and Sven and Evert had an informative session?" Nils asked.

"Indeed we have," I said and smiled at both Sven and Evert. We all know how we got the way we are now--physically, that is. Evert got twice what he wanted and Sven didn't want any of it.

"No," Sven said, "I don't want. I am not complete. You are not complete, Evert is not complete, and Nils is not complete."

"Now hold on, Sven." Nils said gently. Then he said something in Danish which did not please Sven and which Evert smiled at. Sven answered him rather unpleasantly, so that Nils looked at me and said, "Let's go lie down. I need to talk to you."

I rose immediately and without saying anything headed for the room with the beds, with Nils rolling along behind me.

The room was pleasant and had soft light glowing from a pair of wall sconces. There were six beds, three on a wall. We took the one farthest from the door. I lay down, putting my crutches on the floor. Still seated in his chair, Nils put the leg on the floor and then got up from his chair and hopped two steps to the bed and lay down beside me.

"I'm sorry, but Sven is a person who complains all the time and takes a negative view of everything. Every time I see Sven, he tempts me to try to teach him to be positive. I'm sure they've told you everything about me. That I'm a writer and have written many books."

"No, they didn't mention you. Bjørn told me that you were a writer. That you've written on international law. Are you a lawyer, too?"

"Yes, but I don't work at that. I prefer writing about it."

"I get the feeling, Nils, that you have been an amputee for many years, although you can't be more than thirty-five. I would like to hear about it, if you wouldn't mind telling me. I'll explain why if you wish."

"I'm thirty-eight and I thank you for the compliment on my youth. Yes, I've been without my right arm and leg since I was five. I lost both in an accident while I was sledding. I went down a very steep embankment and hit a road machine with a very large steel digging bucket. I hit it with such force it caused the bucket thing to drop, crushing through my right knee and elbow. I was alone with my dog and before I fainted I saw him run away and I knew I was being left to die. When I came to, I was in a hospital and I asked if this was heaven. Then my father told me that my dog had run home and barked and grabbed his pants leg and then let go and started running back to me, turned around and went back to my father who understood and called to my mother to ring for an ambulance.

"I was never treated any differently, but was just another member of a very normal family. My father was--still is--the head of a large manufacturing firm so I had money for education. I studied at Oxford and then at Harvard after I had taken my law degree here in Denmark.

"As you know now, I am male oriented sexually and I don't know if that is the result of the loss of limbs or if that is something I simply was born with. At any rate it is a fact of my life, and my parents and siblings accept it. I am completely self-supporting and have won a pleasant reputation for my work in international law. Also my detective stories enjoy a good deal of notoriety. Two have been made into Danish movies."

"But," I butted in, "your brother, Ragnar. He is so unlike you."

"He should be. We are not at all related. I live alone in my own home and I have a housekeeper who is Ragnar's mother. Ragnar lives with her and is of great service to me. He helps me dress and undress, bathes me, puts my prosthesis on for me. He calls me his brother. Did he tell you I don't do anything?"

"Oh yes at least twice."

"I'm glad to hear it. I requested that he say that at any and all times. I can't tell you how glad I am that he gave you my phone number."

It was pleasant lying there with Nils snuggled in beside me. His right stump was against my left leg and with my right hand I touched it very carefully and lightly. He drew in a breath and said nothing. Then with his left hand he reached over and again felt my "stump", fingering the uneven scars with their little hills and valleys. It excited me.

Then I pulled away from him and found his right arm stump and held it up gently and kissed it and licked it and made love to it. It was like a large thick cock. Then I moved down and did the same thing to his right thigh stump and he began to moan and breathe hard and I felt his hard cock which was flowing with precum and I popped that into my mouth and he exploded almost immediately.

When he had calmed down a few minutes later, he said, "I did not know I did not know!"

"What didn't you know, Nils?"

"That my arm and my leg could be so, so - -"

"Sensitive?" I interjected.

"Yes, sensitive and sexy. How did you know this?"

"Nils," I said, "I don't know whether all amputees have sensitive stumps, but I do and all the amputees I've known do, including you and Sven. I tried it on him and he flipped!"

"Flipped?"

"He loved it!"

"But you, Rod, do you respond to it? Oh, of course you do. I touched you and you got hard." He ran his hand over my body. "You have a beautiful body. Your leg is beautiful. Your muscles are handsome. And this not having a stump is very provoking. I haven't met anyone like you before. You are so open, so unashamed, so honest. Your member is beautiful, too." He fondled my hard dick as he said this.

I love getting compliments on my cock. And on my hip disartic, too. He shifted around so that he could kiss my right "stump" and chew on it. And he played with my balls and rock-hard cock and I was in heaven. He learns fast about amputees, does Nils. I lay there while he built me up to a hot eruption of the juice of life.

"Nils," I said, "I want to ask you a strange and perhaps personal question."

"Perhaps personal?" Nils said with a grin. "What do you say--yes--why not let it all hang out?"

"OK I'll go for broke. Was your accident inevitable?"

Nils didn't answer immediately. Then he said, "I think I know what you're driving at. Was it a planned event?" He paused again and thought about it. "It has certainly felt like it, but it's very difficult to pin down. I used to have a fantasy about being like everybody else, but I stopped doing that because I suddenly realized I wouldn't be `normal' for anything in the world. This was exactly what I wanted and I wouldn't change it if I could. You would, I imagine, wouldn't you? Instead of losing a second limb, as we were talking about, you'd want your right leg back again."

"On the contrary, I was happy when my right leg was torn off. Even one of my doctors in the hospital joked with me about getting rid of my leg. Then a couple of years later I discovered I enjoyed having only one leg and that I probably had quite deliberately chosen to lose it, and having made the choice, then found a way to do it. I believe I'm a voluntary amp."

"By what you say, perhaps I am also a voluntary amp. Are we all voluntary? It's not easy to know." He paused and kissed both my eyelids. "Do you want to go into the sauna? It's getting late and I should return soon. I have a dinner engagement. Have you thought about your choice?"

"My choice? Oh!" I grinned at him. "Yes. If I had to lose another limb, I would lose--"

"Don't tell me. I would like to guess. You would choose to lose your other leg because you cannot imagine being without both arms." He watched my face carefully.

"If I were to have a choice I would indeed choose to be without legs rather than lose an arm."

"Are you telling me you feel sorry for me?" he asked.

"For the love of God, no!" I answered with vehemence. "If I were in your position I would pray to adjust as brilliantly as you, but given a choice, I'll keep my arms."

"It helps to grow up with it, I can attest to that. But as I said, I wouldn't be `normal' for anything in the world. The way I am has filled my life with learning and meaning. It never stops, and I would never give it up. The time will come when I shall have to give it up, but I hope to be very old and tired by then." And he laughed. What a wonderful man, Nils!

Within the space of fifteen minutes we were in a cab headed for my hotel. I had said goodbye to Sven and Evert and I was trying not to come apart at the seams at having to say goodbye to Nils. I did OK until I was getting out at the hotel and Nils was continuing with the cab. Then a couple of tears ran down my cheeks as I looked at him in silence. He smiled and I closed the cab door and ran as fast as my crutches and one leg would allow.

The young man in Paris and Nils in Copenhagen. Both are infinitely rich and both have enriched my life beyond measure.

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