With One Arm

By D. Glenn Price

My name is Mark Del Debio. I am twenty-seven years old, from Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

A little over four years ago I found out what it was like to live with one arm, and by one arm, I mean one arm. I became a triple amputee as the result of a construction accident four days before my twenty-third birthday. I lost both of my legs above the knee and my right arm above the elbow when a concrete floor slab we were pouring suddenly collapsed. Four guys were killed and twenty injured, most with head and back injuries.

I was trapped for fourteen hours beneath tons of wet concrete, twisted reinforcing bars and splintered wood framing. A column form collapsed across my legs and a piece of two by four was pressing against my right arm a few inches below the shoulder. The rest of my body was protected by a sheet of plywood that was resting on the column form. So except for my legs and right arm, I was trapped in, and protected by a small plywood tent in the collapsed debris..

The accident happened so suddenly, I was not able to move more than three feet before my world became a nightmare of shouts, the screech of twisting metal, the snapping and groaning of shattering wood and debris falling all around me. After the accident quiet descended for a moment on the construction site as if the world was shocked by the sudden catastrophe. At first I was unsure of what happened or where I was. As my head cleared and I began to note my surrounding, I was suddenly panicked by the fact that I was trapped and could move only my left arm. I couldn't feel my legs. My right arm began to hurt as the circulation was cut off. What the hell happened?

Then I heard groans from the trapped and injured men, the shouts of the other members of the crew, and before I could think it possible, the sounds of ambulance and fire sirens.

I was sure I was going to be rescued in a few minutes and that I would be taken to the emergency room, get checked out and bandaged up, maybe spend day or two in the hospital and then everything would be back to normal. I began to shout "I am here, I need some help!"

Then I heard the shout of Jimmy, the foreman. "Hang on kid we're working to get you out. How bad are you hurt?"

"I can't feel my legs and my right arm is pinned. It hurts like hell. Get me out of here. Please God, get me out of here." I shouted, panic beginning to edge my voice.

I could see dimly through the haze of dust because a ray of sunlight somehow filtered through the debris. Charlie and others whose voices I did not recognize kept up a constant chatter to keep my spirits up and to keep me conscious. I was in agony. Both my right arm and my legs hurt like hell. Time begin to have no meaning after a while. The pain would subside and then explode for no apparent reason as crushed nerves in my legs short circuited. I was really thirsty. I began to drift in and out of conscious. People kept shouting at me to hang on, not to let go. I just wanted them to leave me alone so I could sleep. But somehow I hung on.

During a period of consciousness, I asked repeatedly for water and finally I saw a plastic tube snake down to a few inches below my chin. I managed to get it into my mouth and started to drink. I thought the water tasted funny, it had been fortified with chemicals that would prevent dehydration better than plain water. I started to hallucinate. I kept thinking my mother was giving me a bath, but I found out later that it was a summer thunderstorm and the rain was trickling through. It began to get dark and then suddenly light again as flood lights were turned on and the grim task of digging out the survivors and the dead continued through the night.

The accident had happened about three thirty in the afternoon, just before quitting time.

At dawn, the rescue unit finally broke through and lifted the piece of plywood that had sheltered me. The emergency workers fully expected me to be dead. I had been silent for about six hours. I opened my eyes and saw a pretty, blond female EMS worker. I remember saying in a cracked, very faint voice, "So this is what heaven looks like, huh."

She smiled and shouted, "We have a live one here!" and suddenly there were several excited faces were blocking out the light of that bright, summer dawn. The EMS worker and her partner began to work on me, giving me an I V, stabilizing my neck, checking my vital signs. My legs and right arm had long since gone completely numb. I was in a lot of pain but it was all at the top of my thighs and at my right shoulder.

Suddenly I saw an electric saw coming down to cut the two-by-four that pinned my arm and for a minute I thought they were intending to cut off my arm right then. The wood was pulled away and the arm splinted. I wondered why the EMS crew, as they splinted my arm, looked at each other and shook their heads negatively at the question from another worker, "Is it viable?" What were they talking about? my arm.? I had no idea how badly I was injured and how close I was to death.

There were several people studying the heavy wooden form that was pinning my legs and trying to figure out how to move it so they could extricate me. As it turned out, the situation was very precarious, any movement of that form could bring down a rain of debris that would bury me. They had one solution and that was to do field amputations of my legs.

The EMS technician, Carol, talked to me in as gentle a manner a possible. "Mark listen to me. There is a mountain of debris above you that is being held back by this piece." indicating the column form. "If we move it, the debris will slide down and bury you again and probably us as well. To get you out, we have to amputate your legs. Do you understand me?"

I nodded, too horror stricken to speak.

"You will feel a prick and then you will go to sleep. When you wake up you will be in the hospital." she said, leaning over me with a needle. And without my legs, I thought to myself as I drifted under. I still have nightmares of that time trapped in that mountain of debris and often wake up screaming "don't cut off my fuckin' legs!"

When I regained consciousness in the hospital two days later, I gradually became aware of what had happened to me. My legs had been amputated about three inches below my hips and my right arm ended in a six inch stump. I was in a great deal of pain and woozy from the drugs. It took a long time for full consciousness to come and for the words of the doctor to register. And then it hit me hard--I had no legs and only one arm!

I was no longer the hot, Ginny stud from Brooklyn that I had been. And I had been a stud. I had curly, black hair worn down to my shoulders, hazel eyes with thick eyelashes and a handsome, square jawed face. The body was fine, beautifully muscled with deeply defined pectorals and abdominal, "baseball" biceps and long, muscular legs. My body was naturally hairless except for some pubic hair and a little around my asshole. The face, torso and one arm was still there, but the rest was gone forever.

I had been wearing cut off jeans and a tight tee shirt the day of the accident. I was proud of my body and liked to show it off and ironically the leg amputations occurred just at the level of the cut off jeans. My boyfriend/lover (yes I am a gay Ginny) used to worship my legs. He loved running his hands over the smooth skin and hard muscles of my legs when we made love.

I had always been very athletic. I loved to jog, kick box, ski (both water and snow), ride a bike, hike in the woods around my family's summer home in the Poconos, all things that required strong, muscular legs. And now my legs ended in short, scarred stumps. It was hard to take, especially when Ben, my so called 'lover' left me because he couldn't waste himself on a 'gimp.' His leaving me when I needed his love and assurance the most hurt me almost as much as the loss of my limbs.

But my Mom and Dad and my brothers and sisters were great. We are seven in my family, good, Brooklyn, Italian, Catholic family, no family planning here. They were constantly there for me with their love, support and encouragement. It had been really hard for them, especially on my Dad, when I had announced six years previously that I was gay. After some really awkward and tense times, they made their adjustments. Their love was very real and it sustained me through the hard times.

I spent two months at the Rusk Institute for Rehabilitation in Westchester County, thirty miles north of New York City. The Rusk campus is a beautiful place, with vine covered buildings, extensive grounds and gardens and comfortable rooms for the patients. I learned how to function as a triple amputee. I was fitted with a prosthetic right arm and trained in how to us it. Because my legs had been taken off so high up, prosthetic legs were not recommended for me. Instead, I learned how to maneuver in a wheel chair.

Often, during those months at Rusk, I found myself wondering why I was taking the amputations so easily. I had the love and support of my family, of course. That helped, but there had to be something else. I did have some frightening, gut wrenching moments when the full import of the accident first sank in. I often cried myself to sleep during the two weeks I was in the hospital. I couldn't imagine myself without my legs and my right arm. My life was so much about my body and since so much of it was now gone, what did I have left to look forward to? But those thoughts subsided and then vanished as I began to heal.

Then it struck me, I actually liked being am amp. I wasn't just another Italian stud, I was the amp, Italian stud.! The amp Italian stud! Neat.

I was also a young, vital man and as I healed and adjusted, my natural sex drive returned in full force. However, during my stay a Rusk, I was basically celibate. It was just me and my left hand and a very active imagination. I really wanted to find someone who was turned on by an Italian, amp stud and have him stuff his hard dick down my deep throat and up willing ass, but nothing happened.

I could see that at least two of the therapists were gay (were they devotees too?, I couldn't tell). Both of them were very professional in their demeanor and did not come on to me at all, much as I would have liked it. Also, at least three of the other patients were also gay. Two were amps like me, one was a paraplegic, but I wasn't really interested in other amps. I wanted a complete man. I did become good friends with one of the amps, a good looking, blond named Skip, who had lost both arms (right above the elbow and left below) in an industrial accident. It was, at my insistence, a platonic relationship, even though Skip would have liked it otherwise.

My older brother invited me to live with him in his apartment in the Village, so after I was discharged from Rusk, I moved in with him. He had a two bedroom apartment in one of those high-rise, white brick apartment buildings on Sixth Ave, not a lot of character but no steps and doors wide enough for my chair. Mike, my brother who is a year older than me, helped me with dressing, bathing, getting into and out of my chair and all of the other myriad tasks that are somewhat difficult when you have only one arm to do them with.

He also looked out for me for the family. And at least one other member of the family was always hanging around the apartment. My Mom was always dropping in with some home made lasagna, or ravioli or some fresh sauce for me. "Manja, manja." was her constant mantra. She thinks, as all Italian mothers do, that anything can be made better if you are well fed.

I was on disability which gave me enough for spending money, my own phone and part of the rent, but not much else. I had no real skills other than construction, so I did not look for a job. What could I do? A month or two after moving in with Mike, I decided to go back to college to get a degree in computer programming, which was something I could do with one real arm and one prosthetic arm. I was too proud to depend on the charity of my family for the rest of my life. I needed to do something.

I also continued my exercise routine that I had started during my rehabilitation so that I retained my great , although somewhat diminished, physique. I joined a gym, going in off hours, usually in the late morning, so the crowd would be sparse and I would not have to deal with the stares. I had a personal trainer, paid for by my insurance, who helped me with my routine.

During the first two years after the accident I was involved in a law suit against the developer and some of the contractors of the construction site where I was injured.

I was suing for fifty million dollars for loss of income and for pain and suffering. The lawyers for the defendants were anxious to settle as they knew that all that I would need to do was to show up in my chair an I would be sure to be awarded a huge settlement. A young, good looking, triple amp, sitting in his chair without prosthesis was a recipe for a huge settlement and the defendant's insurance companies knew it.

The negotiations were not if they would settle, but how much they would settle for. Mike, my brother, is an attorney and was working for the firm that was representing me in the suit. He had negotiated a really good deal for me with his firm so that I would get seventy-five percent of the settlement and not the customary sixty-six percent and the firm would absorb some of the expenses of the suit.

After intense, negotiation lasting a year and a half, we settled on twenty-five million with each of the defendants paying a proportionate amount based on how much of the blame was assigned to each party. I would get ten million immediately and one half a million a year for the next thirty years. The lawyer's fees were negotiated separately. Suddenly, twenty months after the accident, I was a multi-millionaire. It was a pretty heady experience. I had just turned twenty-five. The most money I had ever made in construction was twenty dollars an hour, not a bad wage, but only one thousand dollars per week before taxes (I usually went home with between six and seven hundred dollars).

With my new wealth, I went apartment shopping. My needs were simple--good space and light, no steps at the front door. I could make whatever modifications I need to accommodate my chair. As it turned out, I found a semi-finished loft space in the Flatiron District of Manhattan, great space and views, a small terrace and plumbing and electric service stubbed up (that is what is meant by semi-finished).

I hired an architect and contractor and had the apartment designed, constructed and furnished and moved in a little less than two years ago. I love the loft and the neighborhood. I made a lot of friends and love to entertain in my loft. I found I had

a natural affinity for throwing parties, so I started doing it professionally. I started a catering business which began to turn a profit almost immediately. I set up a kitchen, offices and storage space a loft on the second floor of my building, hired waiters, cooks and support staff and ran the business myself. I found I have a natural affinity for business and the business just took off.

After six months, the business had grown so much that I needed to hire a business manager to handle the day-to-day stuff, so I placed an add in the classified sections of several newspapers.

Jim O'Hara walked into my office on a cold November day for his interview. He was the third interview scheduled that day and the tenth I had talked to so far. None of the others had impressed me much. When Jim walked in, he was wearing a conservative gray suit, a dark gold tie, shiny black cowboy boots and a great smile. Conservative, but not rigid, in dress and manner, well modulated voice, good looking. I liked him immediately.

"So Jim, tell me about yourself. Where do you come from? By the accent, I would say somewhere in the South, Texas maybe." I said by way of starting the interview.

Jim was not nervous at all. He flashed one of those winning smiles and replied, "Well you are right about being form the South but the wrong state. I was born and reared in Louisiana, New Orleans. My family owns a restaurant in the French Quarter, so I grew up with food. I am thirty years old, have a graduate degree in business administration from Tulane University and have spent the last five years working in food service for various hotels, mostly in New Orleans, but I spent a year at the Roosevelt in Memphis.

I am tired of working for a large organization and would like to work in a smaller, more friendly atmosphere. I would really like to work for a gay owned organization." he finished, staring me in the eyes, a sly smile playing around the corners of his mouth .

He continued, his eyes still locked on mine, "I also have a great body, a nine inch dick and I love to fuck legless, Italian studs like you." He had stood up and moved around to behind my desk. Rubbing his crotch slowly with his right hand, he reached with his left and brought my face to his crotch. "And this has nothing to do with whether or not I get this job or not, I just want to fuck your legless ass." he said still holding my face to his crotch.

I was flabbergasted. No one had come on to me like this before, even when I still had all of my limbs. I pulled away from his and gasped, "It is not convenient right now, not here anyway. Jesus man, Do you always interview in such a forceful way?" I said trying to sound calm but betrayed by a crack in my voice. I was also trying to hide my raging hard-on.

Jim reached down and grabbed my hard dick through the fabric of my jeans. I have a decent basket, nice, but not extraordinary. In the tight jeans I always wear (legs cut off and sewn to fit my stumps like a second skin), there is not a lot of room to hide a hard-on.

"So when?" he asked, although it was more in the form of a command.

"After work, tonight about six." I replied wanting to roll over to Jim, hop off my chair and suck his cock right then and there. I don't have a lot of privacy in my office, two walls are of glass so I can keep an eye on what is going on in the kitchen.

To my relief, Jim went back and set down, grinned and said in a conversational tone as if nothing had happened, "If you read my resume, you will see that I am well qualified for this job. I think we will make a nice fit." Who was interviewing whom? I'll be back at six. We can continue our little.....discussion......then." And he got up and left. He had been in complete control of the situation from the start.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, What a man!" I thought to myself as he left. And he did have great shoulders. I had a hard time concentrating for the rest of the afternoon. I canceled the final interview for the day and asked the prospective employee to leave his resume and we would get back to him. A skinny kid with a pimply face and a cow lick, I knew he would not be someone I would hire anyway.

At exactly six, Jim walked in. He had changed into levis, a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up over muscular biceps and work boots, a black leather motorcycle jacket slung over his shoulder. "Ready?" he asked, "your place or mine." No pleasantries, no hello, just a direct and forcefully question.

"My place, I live up stairs. " I replied, straightening up my desk and giving last minute instructions to one of the chefs about the dinner we were catering that night. "I'm ready."

I said, rolling over to Jim and running my hand up his thigh to his crotch. His legs were harder than mine had been before the accident and his dick was a whole lot bigger.

As soon as I shut the door to my loft, Jim picked me up in his hands and lifted me to his height and kissed me fiercely. "Where's the bedroom?" he asked me as soon as that long kiss was over.

"To your left and down at the end of the hall." I replied. I was absolutely in awe of the strength of this man's body and passion.

Still holding me and kissing me again as he walked down the hall, he got to the door which I opened. He walked over to my bed and threw me down and then spent some minutes just looking at me, drinking in the sight of my legless, one armed body. He pulled his shirt tails out of his pants and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged out of it and let it fall to his feet. He bent down and unlaced his work boots and one by one drew them off, followed by his socks. And then his hands went to his belt and his pants. He moved even more slowly letting me get a good look at his hard, extremely cut torso and arms. One by one the buttons of his 501's were undone until I could see a thick thatch of pubic hair and the base of his massive cock. Slowly he peeled off the 501's and stood before me in all of his nude glory.

He was beautiful. Long, dark blond, very curly hair tumbled down to and over his shoulders. He flicked it out of his eyes with a toss of his head. His eyes were large, expressive and dark blue. His face was defined by its high cheek bones and square jaw with a cleft in his chin. His mouth was beautifully shaped with full lips and even, white teeth. He had extremely wide shoulders and a narrow waist. His pecs and abdominal were beautifully defined and deeply cut. His chest was covered with fine, blond hair that flowed down in a four inch wide strip into his pubic hair. His dick stood out from his crotch, massive and purple veined. At least ten inches and fat, it was an awesome sight.

He walked over to the bed and said "So what do you think?"

"I think you are the best looking man I have ever seen naked." I replied reaching up and taking his massive tool in my left hand.

"Now I am going to undress you/" he said reaching for my shirt which he unbuttoned and removed. He then slipped the shoulder strap that holds on my prosthetic right arm and removed it revealing the scared stump of my right arm. He bent over and took the stump in his right hand and brought it to his mouth, running his tongue across the scar and nibbling on the skin of my stump. He explored the stump with his fingers, feeling the end of the bone with his finder tips. I loved it. All three of my stumps are extremely sensitive and I love to have them massaged and licked when I make love.

He continued undressing me, taking off my tee shirt next. He used his hands to massage my pecs and began to pinch and suck on my nipples which are extremely sensitive. I was in heaven. Jim was in complete control and I was his willing tool. My pants came off last. I never wear underwear. I like the feel of my cock and stumps against the denim of my jeans.

Jim then stood up and looked at my body, drinking in the sight of my leg and arm stumps.

Then me lay on top of me and kissed me, a deep probing kiss that lasted a long time. I was so hard and I wanted that cock in my asshole so bad, I could hardly stand it. He turned over so I was on top and I took the opportunity to devour him with my tongue and mouth, licking and probing every inch of his muscular body. I took his cock into my mouth. It was oozing pre-cum. I loved the salty, bitter taste of this man's essences. I am an expert cock sucker, but I was never able to manage more that one half of his massive tool.

He spun me around so that my head was at his crotch and his at mine. We started to sixty-nine. Jim easily took my seven inch cock deep into his throat. I knew I was dealing with a master of man-to-man sex. Then he began to massage and suck on my leg stumps. I could not continue as the stimulation coming from my super sensitive leg stumps was almost too much to bear.

Jim moved around on his knees and lifted my legless torso into the air and began to probe my asshole with his tongue. He worked it for several minutes, slipping in first one finger, then two and finally three until my man hole was relaxed and ready for the assault by his massive dick.

"Where are the lube and rubbers?" Jim asked. I pointed to the night stand. Jim leaned over removed a rubber, tore the packet open with his teeth and slipped the latex onto his massive dick. He then applied a liberal amount of the lube to the huge, latex covered man tool and then to my asshole, working it deep. During this operation, his eyes never left mine.

He lifted my torso into the air and I felt the head of his dick probing my eager ass. He pushed in slowly give me time to become accustomed to the intrusion before proceeding.

It was painful, he was so huge, but I willed myself to relax and finally he was in to the hilt of his cock. Then he withdrew his cock almost to the head and, with a quick thrust of his pelvis, he entered me completely. I screamed in pain and delight. He then started to fuck me in earnest, moving with a sure, powerful rhythm. He kept it up for twenty minutes and I moved with him sometimes grasping his hard butt to force him in further.

The thrusts increased in intensity. He sometimes pulled out completely and, with a powerful movement of his hips, thrust back in. I loved it when he did that. We were soon both covered in sweat and panting from exhaustion. Suddenly I could hold it no more. I shouted, "I'm cuming baby," and I did, hitting myself in the face with my cum, spurting again and again.

Then Jim climaxed and I felt it even through the rubber, like a sudden explosion of fire in my bowels. He then fell forward onto me and lay still, recovering his breath and allowing his heart rate to slow down.

I lay there recovering my breath as well and I smiled to myself. This is the guy I had been looking for ever since the accident, someone who was totally turned on by my Italian, stud, amp body.

Oh, and by the way, he got the job.

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