The Tyro

By CORY WILTON

People sometimes snidely call me a "wealthy bastard." If it's within hearing, I congratulate them for being half right, I am wealthy and I love it. Bastard I'm not, neither literally nor figuratively. I'm a nice guy. It's my being wealthy that people can't stand.

For the first twenty-six years of my life, I had everything: I had heart-breaking good looks, a body to kill for, and a flare for style that could drive people crazy. I still have the good looks and the flare for style--I make everyone else look like something a self-respecting cat wouldn't even sniff, and the body is almost as beautiful as it was when I was 26--I'm now 32--except that it's missing the entire right leg. Not even a stump. Just a flat surface. The surgeon who did that avoided a hip disarticulation so that I could have the semblance of a normal pelvis and so I could be more comfortable when sitting. A hip dis puts a dent in the hip like someone took a big bite out of it.

The result is that I use the fanciest crutches this side of Hammacher-Schlemmer. For special events: a pair made of mahogany, another in black walnut, and still another in ebony to use when I'm doing a black tie dinner; for everyday: a pair lacquered bright red. People sometimes say to me: "You wealthy bastards really have a flare for showing off." To which I usually reply: "What a pity you can't recognize style when you see it."

How'd it happen? Cancer. Totally unexpected. But look! You have to roll with the punches. I'm not a Yale man for nothing! If I didn't learn anything else at Yale, and I don't think I did, I learned to roll with the punches.

People also tell me I have an insufferable superiority complex. But Lordy-me!, why shouldn't I? After all, I am superior. I'm still better looking than any two-legged guy you ever met, and my body is better built leg or no leg. It's all in the point of view. I mean when I enter a room dressed in black tie and ebony crutches, I attract attention like shit attracts flies.

Laugh! That was a joke! Better watch out for those, there's a lot of them around. Like I'm gay. Don't laugh. That's not a joke.

Really I am. One of the assistant coaches of Yale's track team was my lover. For one whole hour. I came between hurdles.

If you want me to be serious, just stick around. I'm getting there. It's just that you've got to know the background before you can concentrate on the foreground, and the most important part of my BG is that I give the impression of being both very masculine and spoiled rotten, and I don't like boys--or girls either for that matter--but older men, men who are in their 40's or 50's, lean, built like Samson and are handsome. I also like amps. I am attracted to them and the greatest boon about being one is that it has put me in the company of so many. I like nothing better than looking at an amp on crutches. And being one on crutches, I have discovered that I, too, am the object of all sorts of desire. It's damned exciting.

I'm Western Money. Not the Stuffy Eastern Kind. And there was this big meeting of Gay Yalies in Chicago the first week in June so I decided to drive back for it. I packed a bag, threw it in the back of Asshole, the name I gave my Maserati because I come and go in it so much, and took off about noon. By 6 P.M. I had done about 375 miles and was tired of driving, so I pulled in at the Twin Maples Motel in a little town in one of those deadly states that lie between the 30,000-acre ranch where I was raised (and am now running) and Chicago. I noted with relief that there was a fairly decent-looking cafe practically next door. I could make my martini and walk across to dinner.

When I arrived at the motel, my bursting bladder forcefully reminded me that it had been six hours since I had peed. And yes they had a non-smoker room available--#124--and after checking its location on their map, I crawled back into my Asshole and drove to the end of the large two-story building to my room.

To my surprise a handicapped parking stall was in front of my door and another to the right of it, but since I have never considered myself sufficiently handicapped to get a parking permit, I parked in the unrestricted spot to the left. I suppose that my arrival in the motel office on scarlet crutches--my usual form of ambulation--prompted the young woman to put me in a handicapped room.

Because my bladder was desperately in need of relief, I did not stop to unload the car but hurriedly unlocked the room door and headed for the john in the grab-bar-equipped bath, lifted up the seat and hauled my cock out for relief.

I must have peed for at least two minutes. Then, after washing my hands and face, I headed back to the car.

Just as I was opening the trunk, a car pulled up and took the handicapped parking place next to the one I didn't take. My interest was instantaneously aroused--I'm a real sucker (in more ways than one) for fellow amputees--so I slowed down my unloading to get a load of whether or not my neighbor might be an amp. As I delayed and watched, an exceptionally handsome man of about 45 opened his door, reached in back--he was driving a two-door sedan--and pulled out a wheelchair. I heard him unfold it and then I peeked again just in time to see him vault out of the front seat into the chair, a magnificent DAK, with fairly short stumps. So I grabbed my suitcase and walked into the empty parking space, my case banging against my right bright red crutch. He turned to watch.

Our eyes met and we smiled at each other.

"Well," I said, "looks like I've got company."

"Yeah, I guess you could say so," he said.

That was certainly noncommittal, but I wasn't going to give up.

"Which way are you headed?" I asked, my eyes scanning those beautiful stumps of his.

"West," he replied. "And you?"

"East," I answered.

"Whoever said `East is east and west is west, and never the twain shall meet' was dead wrong," he said grinning. He had a pleasantly resonant voice.

"Kipling, wasn't it?" I offered.

"Beats me," he said and closed the matter.

"Could I help you unload?" I asked, knowing full well that the question had a double meaning if he wanted to take it that way.

"That's very kind of you, but I'll say `no thank you'. I have wheels. Anyway you have fewer hands than I have, with those red crutches of yours." He spoke politely and apparently with complete assurance. "Is the red symbolic of something?"

"It's supposed to attract attention, which it seems to be doing. As you've surely discovered, people are given to staring at an amp on crutches or in a wheelchair, so I beat them to the punch. They do just what you did and they haven't time to stare. And, of course, it keeps me in charge."

"Not always," he replied, and then made a small grimace. "I'm sorry. That just slipped out."

I looked at him carefully and then smiled understandingly. "Still pretty new, is it?"

He gave me an odd look and I realized at once that he might still be having a rough day now and then. "Well, no, not that so much," he said quietly. "It's just that. . ." He stopped talking and then seemed to reach a decision. "Look," he continued, "when you get your stuff in and do whatever you have to do, why not come over for a drink. It's been a long day's drive alone and I feel like talking to someone. What do you say?"

"I'd like that. About fifteen?"

"Whenever," he said.

"I'll get the ice," I volunteered.

"Now that would be a help," he remarked.

We smiled and I went in, leaving him to unload his car and get in his room as best he could. I unpacked my toilet kit, picked up the ice tub and went out. It was quite a hike to the ice machine near the office, but it felt good to be up on my leg after six hours behind the wheel.

When I got back, I stripped and popped into the shower for a refresher. While soaping down, I thought about my neighbor and how good-looking he is and how a DAK really turns me on and my cock raised its head as a sort of query. Is he? Does he? The shower over, it felt great to get into fresh clean clothes, swollen soft cock and all, and I felt like a million, specially with the prospect of getting better acquainted with my neighbor. My watch indicated it had been about fifteen minutes, so I went next door and knocked.

"Come in!" was all I needed to hear and opened the door.

My neighbor was not in sight, but I heard the basin water running in the bathroom.

"How come you didn't park in your place? You're going to throw everyone off," his voice came out to me.

"Yeah, you're right. I should change. But I don't have a permit, and some Joe will see a car parked there and raise hell. But you're right. No one else will park there either. Hold on a minute while I go move the car." I went outside and moved the car. I also left the red crutches in the car and took my mahogany ones. The procedure took maybe three-four minutes.

When I got back I said, "I honestly didn't think of its throwing everything off." I looked at my new acquaintance. He was back in the room dressed only in his shorts, his stumps showing. They were extremely short and sort of conical in shape--not that they came to a point, but they tapered. He saw me looking at them. His chest and shoulders were exceptionally handsome. You know what I was thinking: `This man's right up my alley. And would I like to go up his!'

"Sorry about not being dressed. I decided to shower and I'm slow. As you can see," he said, "prostheses are virtually out of the question. I have them but I need crutches to walk on them, and the chair, while not as cosmetically satisfying, is faster and easier. I gather you have a similar problem."

"I certainly do," I replied.

"Is yours a hip disarticulation?" he asked.

"No, it isn't, although for the sake of brevity I usually tell people it is. They don't seem to know the difference. Even amps don't know. In my case the femur was cut with very little extension below the ball and socket head. It was deliberate. A dislocation makes the hip curve inward and sitting is not as comfortable, so the surgeon left me as much as he could. The leg was removed where it stops, but enough flesh was left to make a good flat platform. Want to see it? I'll show you mine if you show me yours, said the little boy to his pal behind the barn."

Laugh! That's what he did, he laughed. I'll be modest and tell you that joke is not original with me. I first heard it in rehab. And I didn't think it was very funny then, either!

His laugh didn't last long, but he remained in thought a couple of seconds and then said, "Yeah, if you don't mind. This is all still pretty new to me, as you so correctly guessed."

"I don't mind a bit," I said as I released belt and unbuttoned my pants and unzipped. I pulled my pants and shorts down, exposing my large dong and balls, at which he stared before he rolled over to me. Once up close, his head on a level with my lower abdomen, he looked with interest. Putting his head down to see the flat surface where my leg used to be, he studied it. I can still move my femur there slightly and I did, causing the skin to ripple. The movement made him take in his breath sharply. His being so close to my "stump" and cock and balls made my cock begin to swell in anticipation. He noticed and backed his chair away from me.

I was looking at his crotch and his handsome visible stumps "I can do that too," he said and wiggled and lifted each one alternately as high as it would go. The movement was, for me, very provocative sexually, and I wasted no time reacting. He noticed my reaction and, grinning like a devil, continued to wiggle his stumps in that manner. Within seconds my cock was hard as a rock.

I let him look for a few seconds then pulled my shorts and pants up, hiding my big whang as best I could. "Sorry about that," I said, looking at his crotch for a sign of life and finding it.

"I'm surprised you didn't have a prosthesis made for your penis," he said, "you could have it lacquered purple, then you could walk on it and throw the red crutches away."

I had to grin. "It doesn't need any lacquer. Sometimes it stays hard so long it turns purple all by itself." He laughed again, and I put my hand out. "I'm Cory Wilton and I'm from the Wilton Bar None Ranch."

"And my name is Gordon Marshall. I'm a lawyer with a law firm that has as its motto, High Class Action: No Holds Barred. How about a drink? And where's the ice? I thought you were going to get some."

"Oh Golly Moses!" I said. "I did and forgot to bring it. I'll go get it." I went back to my room and returned in a few moments with the bucket. The ice had melted some, but not enough to create a second trip.

He hadn't changed his position while I was gone, but now rolled over to the dresser and poured us each a bourbon on the rocks. I was pleased with his joking reaction to my hard cock, and began to suspect that he might be interested in some fun and games later on. Me, I wanted to tumble that legless god right then.

He handed me my drink and lifted his own. "Here's to us," he said, "may we learn to roll with the punches."

"I'll drink to that," I responded and we touched plastic cups and drank. I was wondering what he meant by that and decided not to speculate but to ask point blank.

"You're trying to learn to roll with the punches? I often tell people that it's the only thing I learned at Yale. You sound new to this amputee business, but I think I already said that."

"I'm new to a lot of things," he said not looking at me." He paused and thought things over while I wondered what he meant by that statement. "I lost my legs eleven months ago. It was a terrible accident and I don't want to talk about it. But when I left the hospital and went home is when the real trouble began. Not that I hadn't been through hell before that. I went through what I now know to be all the steps new amputees go through. That's a false statement. I'm still going through some of them. But I was unprepared for what I met with at home. That first night when my wife and I went to bed, my cock was hard as rock but she wouldn't allow me to touch her. Said she didn't feel like it. I persisted but suddenly she got up out of bed and without a word left the room. I heard her go down the hall to our oldest boy's room. She didn't return. I felt more miserable than I'd ever felt in my life. I saw my future, empty. I was so gone by her walking out that I couldn't even cry."

He paused and, taking a deep breath, pulled himself up. "She slept in the room that had been our oldest boy's. I didn't tell you that I have two sons, the older in college and the younger still at home, a senior in high school. After almost a week of this, she and I were dressing and I was moving around on the floor using my arms as crutches, when she suddenly yelled at me. `Don't do that!!' she said. `It looks horrible' and she ran out of the room. That's when I learned what the trouble was. In her eyes I was a deformed cripple. I hit bottom so hard that time that I swallowed a lot of sleeping tablets and ended up in the hospital again. My son had found me unconscious and consequently saved my life. My wife moved out while I was in the hospital and started divorce proceedings, not taking anything. All she wanted was out. Out. And that's what she got. Out."

Again he paused. I got the impression it was a release to be telling me the story. Then he continued.

"My son. My son is probably the most wonderful person I've ever met or known. He took charge and when I got home again from the overdose, he kept house, went to school, cooked, did everything. He kept me from losing my mind. He would even lie down with me at night and talk me to sleep, gently. The reason I'm here today is because of him. He had hand controls installed in the car. He helped me get my driver's license. I have a sister in Wyoming and he insisted that I go visit her, so that's where I'm headed. But it was Bill--my younger son--who did it."

I was genuinely moved by his story.

"My son," he said and stopped. "I don't know how to tell you this. . .partly, I guess, because I'm not sure where you're coming from. But one night when my son lay down with me, we talked very privately and he told me he was gay."

He paused, waiting for my reaction. Since I said nothing, he continued with his story. "I was so surprised I sat bolt upright. And I cried. It was the only time I've cried since all this happened to me. He hugged me and kept telling me how sorry he was that he hurt me and he was crying and he told me how much he loved me and how much I meant to him, and somehow that made it OK. I put my arms around him and we stopped talking and I lay down and went to sleep."

He stopped the narration again and closed his eyes. "I woke up some time during the night and found him in bed with me and I smiled and rolled over and went back to sleep. The next morning he helped me shower, although I was perfectly capable of doing it myself--had been doing it all along."

Again he paused and smiled. "He got an erection and it looked like yours. I enjoyed looking at it and it gave me an erection, too. He's very manly, and has a beautiful body, and with his stiff cock he looked like a young god. Nothing happened between us, of course. But after that he continued to sleep with me even though we never touched each other. He must have been jacking off, but never with me watching. And I did a lot of jacking off, thinking about him and his fine big hard cock. It's a very satisfactory relationship. I'm puzzled by it, because it seems homosexual, but it isn't. I don't know whether he has a friend at school he enjoys sex with. We never discuss it. And it seems like prying on my part to ask. But Bill has been a life-saver. I am forever indebted to him. It seems almost as if we had planned it that way."

Should I or shouldn't I? I've been into some fairly esoteric studies in the past five years and here was an opening I would ordinarily have grabbed and run with. I decided to risk it.

"Maybe you did plan it that way." I interjected.

"No. That isn't possible." Then he looked at me. "How do you mean, maybe we planned it?"

"Oh, I believe in some pretty far-out stuff. At least it's pretty far out for some people. For me, it's right up my alley."

"What is it that's so far out?" Marshall asked.

"Well, it's reincarnation," I said and paused.

"What about it?"

"What about it? Well," I was walking gingerly through the idea, as if I was afraid of stepping on a land mine, "before we choose to come back here, we choose what we want to do and learn while we're here. And sometimes we agree with another person to work with them, or marry them, or be born to them. It's perfectly possible--although I have no idea whether this is what really has happened--it's perfectly possible that you and Bill agreed on this pattern. You had chosen to lose your legs at a certain time in your life, and --"

"You think I chose to lose my legs?" His face had turned dead white.

"Frankly, yes, I do. Another far out thing I believe is that each one of us creates our own reality from beginning to end."

"Obviously you don't believe in God." Marshall said with a tremor in his voice.

"On the contrary, I believe very strongly in God. I believe that God gave us absolute free will to do as we please. Whatever we wish. Consequently I believe that we each of us plan our lives before we come back to live them. We plan them and we live them accordingly. Call that predestination, if you will. But it is not God's doing. It's each person's own doing, and no one else's."

He was shivering slightly but noticeably, and the color had not returned to his face. I felt that there was something very definitely going on that I didn't understand.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"I'm. . .just startled, I think." he answered. "You knocked the breath out of me. . ." he paused and took several deep breaths, "I've got something to tell you that you won't believe."

"Which is?" I said quietly.

"Three weeks before the accident, my wife--my ex-wife--and I were sitting at dinner in a restaurant, when a rather large woman came over to our table. She was quite tall, quite heavy and the skirt of her dress was ankle length. She stood at our table and looked at me very strangely, but didn't say anything. We had been talking, but we stopped in mid-stream and stared at her waiting for her to say something. We hadn't seen where she came from, she just seemed to materialize."

He took a sip of bourbon. "Then she opened her mouth and spoke in a strange voice and with a foreign accent. She said one word. `Why?' Neither of us attempted to answer and she repeated it. `Why?' She was gazing fixedly at me. `Why what?' I asked her. `Why do you choose such a difficult roll?' she said. `Difficult roll?' I said. `Yes' she said, `in three weeks you will change your life forever. You know the rewards are great but the suffering is terribell.'--she pronounced the word terrible something like that. `You are not made to suffer. It is too soon, too soon. You will need another life to make up for this. I weep for you. I pray for you.' And she turned and walked away and disappeared, leaving us sitting there with me in a cold sweat. Three weeks later the accident. And now eleven months later you tell me I have chosen this."

"And so you have," I said, but I was a bit daunted by his story. "You have created this reality for yourself. You have created me in your life today, just as I have created you in mine. It is, of course, entirely possible that we planned it."

"You're way ahead of me," he said, but he still looked white and full of anxiety. "I could use some dinner. Is there a restaurant near by, or should we order in something?"

I looked at him and made a quick decision. "We're going out. There's a restaurant almost next door. We don't need to drive. Put some clothes on."

"I'd prefer not to go out, if you don't mind," he said firmly.

"Stop running away. The sooner you learn to accept the stares, the better off you'll be. Paint your chair bright red! Paint it day-glow orange! Beat 'em to the punch. Do that and you won't ever have to roll with the punches. You'll even begin to look forward to it. Too bad you can't go without your shirt. With that chest and those shoulders, you'd have every woman in the place creaming in her panties, and every man in the place erecting like Samson with Delilah. You've got a terrific bod, Gordie, accept it! But right now put some clothes on."

He looked at me with what appeared to be both defiance and disgust. Then he said rather nastily, "Jesus! but you're a bossy bastard!"

I laughed. "Most people call me a wealthy bastard. You only say that because you know I'm right!"

Suddenly he looked--how to describe it?--like he was going to laugh and like he was fascinated beyond his capacity to understand.

"Come on, Marshall, you're the way you are and life is the way it is and high time the twain met. Now!"

He laughed again. "Jesus!" he said, "You're worse than Bill!"

"I'm not your son, thank God, so it's a lot safer being near me with a hard cock than with Bill," I said vehemently. "And goddammit, but you're a beautiful hunk of man!!"

Gordie just grinned at me after that remark, and rolled to his suitcase and started dressing. I watched him put on his shirt and work his way into his truncated trousers, get a jacket, and check his wallet. Then he looked at me and said with a wry grin, "Okay, big shot, does this meet with your approval?"

"It'll have to, because the way I'd like to see you would get you arrested for indecent exposure. Let's go."

Marshall did not react to that, but wheeled to the door. It took us about ten minutes to get to the restaurant in the gathering twilight and we didn't exchange a word. I held the door for him and he wheeled in ahead of me.

We were met by the hostess who smiled at Marshall. "Good evening, sir, for two?" She looked up at me. "Those are very goodlooking. What're they made of?"

Ah! Someone who recognized style! "Mahogany. Special order. I believe in going first class."

"They're really great. I must tell my boyfriend about them." Then she turned to Marshall. "Have you ever done any wheelchair racing?"

Marshall was dumbfounded. "Well, no, uh. . ."

She was leading the way now to our table, talking over her shoulder to us. "It's great. My boyfriend won the marathon last year and is training like mad for it right now."

We got to our table and she pulled it to one side so Marshall could get in comfortably. "May I get you something from the bar?"

Marshall looked at her with a grin and said, "Yes, if you don't mind. I'll have the same thing your boyfriend drinks."

Her face dropped. "Oh, sir, you won't like it. It's 7 Up with the juice of one lemon in it. He's a vitamin C freak."

"Good God!" Marshall said. "Make it a bourbon on the rocks."

"Now that's more like it," she said, "And you, sir, with the beautiful mahogany crutches. What'll it be?"

"I'll take the same as my friend here."

"Two bourbons on the rocks. Your waitress will be here shortly. Enjoy your dinner." She smiled warmly and left us, our heads swimming from the pleasure of her company.

"As I was saying, you're the way you are and life is the way it is, who could ask for anything more?" I was watching Marshall and saw, to my astonishment, tears coming into his eyes.

After a moment, he spoke, but not tearfully. "What's going on? All of a sudden my life has taken a turn for something I can't identify yet. But it has to do with you. If you know, don't tell me. Let me bask in this."

With that we studied our menus and hadn't quite finished when Shirley arrived to take our order. "Good evening, gentlemen, I'm Shirley, your waitress. Have you decided yet?"

We smiled, greeted her, muttered at each other, and finally ordered. Shirley left us just as the hostess returned with our drinks. We thanked her and sat in silence while we sipped our bourbons .

Dinner was not a very talkative event, probably because we'd been talking in a very personal and very private vein. Anyway, we were both hungry and we ate heartily, with little being said. Actually my mind was on getting back to Gordon's room. I knew exactly what I was going to do because he was so stupendously attractive. And I figured he was open to the idea. And my balls and cock were having a field day jingling and jangling and counting their blessings before they occurred.

We were just finishing our desserts when the hostess reappeared.

"Everything all right, gentlemen? Enjoy your meal?" she asked.

"It was delicious," Marshall answered. "But I'm curious about your boyfriend. Would you tell me about him?"

"Yes, I'd like to. About three years ago he had a bad accident and lost both his legs. He went through everything in the book but I stuck with him. One leg was a hip dislocation but the other has enough stump for a good suction socket, so he walks with crutches--oh nothing as good looking as yours," she turned and directed that to me, "and having been an athlete he took up wheelchair sports. He plays basketball, tennis, softball, enters races--and wins, as I told you--and has made himself a fine life. He has a good job and lots of friends. You'd never know there was anything missing. He's got it all. We've lived together ever since he left the hospital."

"You're one in a million," Marshall said to her. "I think I envy your boyfriend."

"That's sweet of you to say," she said warmly with a big smile. "Thank you for being with us and have a nice trip."

We thanked her and as she left, we followed not far behind. After paying our check, we returned to the motel.

"You're coming in, aren't you? For a nightcap?" Marshall said.

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," I said with heavy mock seriousness. "I'll get us some more ice."

He unlocked the door, I went in and picked up the ice bucket.

When I got back, Marshall was sitting on the bed naked. When I caught sight of him, my cock leapt with joy. I just stood there at the door I had just closed and stared at his beautiful body. His shoulders and chest had the natural development of the born athlete, nice bulk but smooth as silk. His cock and balls lay snuggled into his conical twin stumps. My cock was rock hard and straining for release.

"Will I get arrested for indecent exposure?"

"Over my hard cock!" I said. "My God but you're handsome! Your body, those stumps, you really turn a guy on, do you know that? And do you know what you're letting yourself in for? Do you know what you're doing? Has Bill taught you?" I didn't want to start anything I couldn't finish.

"Bill has told me that he thinks I'm very handsome and he said that my legs. . .well, what's left of my legs is what makes me so special to look at. I don't think I understand it, but apparently you're like Bill. He said that there are people who like amputees because they're amputees, and he said he was one of them. Are you?"

"You better understand right now that I am one of them but that I also ask for something more, something you have provided."

"What's that?" he frowned.

"An attractive personality and a magnetically attractive body to go with the highly attractive missing limbs." I explained. "Like the boyfriend, you've got it all. Do you know what you're letting yourself in for?"

"Well, no," Marshall answered. "I've never had sex with a man and it's only because I think so much of Bill that I can accept the idea. Then when you allowed me to look at your hard cock, I realized you were gay and that you were attracted to me. Frankly I was flattered. . . and frightened. . . to have someone like me as I am." He paused. "No, I don't know what I'm letting myself in for, but I can certainly guess and I've heard stories about male love and what two men do."

I began to undress. "I will be more than happy to show you. Please feel free to ask or do whatever you wish. I'm going to do some things that will likely surprise you, but relax. It won't hurt you in any way physically."

"As I said, you're a bossy bastard!" Marshall said and laughed. He kept his eyes on me as I stripped. When I was completely naked, I stood quite still in front of him, my bone jutting out and curving upward, my big balls hanging where they belong, waiting to be touched.

"You really have it all yourself," he said. In his crotch his own bone was growing, and as I watched, it came to almost what I'd guess to be seven inches, curving downward. His balls were small and stayed tucked under his curved cock.

"Lie down on your back," I said and lay down beside him as he lay back. I took hold of his cock which had risen to a sort of right angle to his body. He flinched slightly as I touched it. I played with it and then with his balls and he made little noises.

From the moment I touched him, he had turned his head and was watching my big cock.

I was lying to his right and playing with his cock with my right hand. He reached over with his left hand. "May I?" he asked.

"It's all yours," I answered. He took hold of my cock and examined it with his hand, then he pushed himself up to a sitting position and began a minute examination of my cock and balls, using both hands.

"I've never touched a man's cock before. Oh I've seen my son's when it was hard, and when I was a kid, after sports when we were in the showers, we'd get hard and look at each other. I remember there was one kid who had a cock like yours. Even then. God knows what it must be like now. Probably twice that size."

While I lay back enjoying his search, he continued his exploration. Then he said, "It's real odd. It's hard as rock but it's soft to the touch. And it's funny how yours curves up and mine curves down. I figured they'd all be pretty much alike. My son's curves down, too. But his is much bigger than mine. More like yours. We've never touched each other." Then he lay down again as if he were waiting to find out what to do next.

I knew well what to do next: what I'd wanted to do from the moment I met him. "Just relax," I reminded him, "I'm going to explore a couple of things myself."

I slid to a position directly below him, pushing him up closer to the head of the bed. He accommodated me without knowing what was coming.

I sat up so that he was is front of me, and I began playing with his stumps very gently, barely touching them with my fingers, giving them a "nerve massage." He put his head back on the pillow and his breathing became deeper and he began to make little noises. Then I lay down on my left side and took his right stump in my hands and began kissing it and licking it. The effect was magical. He began squirming with pleasure and moaning and trying to talk.

"Ohhh, God, ohhhhh. . . I don't believe it oh God it's. . . I don't believe it. . ." then he began a sort of whimpering sound and I swung around to my other side and went to work on his left stump. This stump was even more sensitive and he was going nuts with the excitation. His cock was jumping and he was flexing every muscle in his body. Then I did another thing I'd been wanting to do. I leaned over and, poking my face into his crotch, popped both balls into my mouth. His reaction was amazing. He pressed down on his stumps and raised his ass off the bed, and at that point I released his balls and slipped his bent cock into my mouth, a move which caused him to utter a loud cry.

I tongued the cut head of his cock and within seconds he had grabbed a pillow and placed it over his face while he was ejaculating and twisting and stifling his loud noises in the pillow. He shot a massive amount of jism and I just kept tonguing his cock until he yelled into the pillow to stop. His cock faded fast as he lay there panting and having small paroxysms that shook his body. His stumps jerked reflexively and the sight of their spastic motions really put me on the edge. I grabbed my cock and started jacking it, saying at the same time, "I'm coming. If you want to see this thing erupt, look now!"

He pulled the pillow away from his face and I rose to my knee, holding myself balanced over him with my left arm while I jacked and then exploded a geyser of hot spunk all over his handsome chest.

"Oh Jesus!" he said over and over. "Oh my God! Sex was never this good before. Is it always. . .oh holy cock!. . .is it always like this with another man? No wonder Bill prefers being gay. Oh shit oh God oh Jesus lay down on top of me, press me, hold me. . ."

I complied with his request, lying on top of him, my chest splashing in my cum on his chest and he threw his arms around me and held me tight, squeezing me as hard as he could. He held on that way for perhaps a minute, then he suddenly relaxed and went limp all over.

I rolled off and put my left arm under his neck and pulled him in to me. He put his left arm around my chest and nestled in. We lay that way for a very long time, and I thought he had drifted off to sleep, but just as I was sure he was asleep, he stirred and looked up at my face.

Then he disentangled himself and sat up. I still lay on my left side, my right hip in the air, exposing the flat "stump". He leaned over and began kissing the scarred skin and licking it and of course I responded immediately and began to grow another hard whang. He played with it, squeezed it, played with my balls. Then, somewhat experimentally, he gingerly licked the shaft of my cock. And then tried tonguing the head, but he discontinued that.

"You're doing OK for a beginner," I observed. "Do you like male love or is it too soon to know?"

"Anymore I don't know anything about anything except that since you came in here for a drink before dinner, I've been happier that I can remember being for years. What kind of magic do you work that can make me forget that I'm only half a man and then you elevate the half that's left to cloud nine. Are you some sort of super human being? You lose a leg and you go right on as if nothing happened. Me. . .oh shit. I've got so much to learn."

"Looks to me like you've been learning very fast. Let's go take a shower and wash some of the stuff off. I'm sticky and so are you. OK?" I asked.

"Great idea," he answered and swung himself off the bed and using his arms as crutches, headed for the bathroom. I hopped behind him.

Gordon vaulted up onto the tub seat and I sat on the edge of the tub in front of him until I had the water running at the right temperature. This tub had a telephone shower, so I went to work on him. While I was soaping him, I got hard just looking at his beautiful body, and he played with me. I finally made him turn around so I could scrub his back, and even that view of him was nice. Then I sat in front of him and he lowered himself into the tub and, having pushed the seat back, returned the favor.

"Is this the way you and Bill shower?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered.

"Does Bill wash your cock?"

"No. I don't let him. Incest is not my line, I thought you'd already picked that up," he said.

"But washing your cock wouldn't be incest. Sucking it would," I objected.

"Nevertheless we don't touch each other. No matter how much I want to."

"Oh ho!" I ejaculated. "Then you do want to!"

"I told you I love to look at him, specially when he's hard, like you!"

"Tell me something if you can," I said. "Are you or do you think you could be attracted to amputees?"

"I told you Bill said he was attracted. And then you come along and you're attracted." He paused and seemed to make a decision. "Yes, I think I am, but it's not very clear to me. Probably because I've never personally known any amputees. Well, until now."

"Yes, but you must have seen someone at some time who was on crutches and only had one leg. Didn't you"?

He looked a bit flustered. "Yeah, I did, I remember seeing some one like that when I was a Boy Scout."

"Do you remember your reaction to the sight?" I continued.

"Yes. Yes, I do." He changed color slightly. "It's embarrassing." He looked at me with an unhappy face. "I got a hard on."

"Was that the only time it ever happened?" I was relentless.

"Yes. I was so ashamed I wouldn't look at another amputee again. The few times I saw one I'd just turn the other way. But it didn't stop the beginning of the reaction."

He had stopped scrubbing me and I asked him to rinse me off--he had the telephone shower in his hand. He did as I asked and we remained silent.

I jumped out and got some towels and threw him one. We toweled off and then went back to his bed.

Once he was lying down again, I looked at him at length, taking in the sight of his remarkable beauty.

"Why do you stare at me like that?" he asked after a lengthy pause.

"Because you're so incredibly beautiful. Your skin has a rich dark brunette tone, your hair is beautiful, and your stumps are like two shafts of brilliant light, making you the most special person I've ever met."

"Have you known many amputees?" he asked.

"None until I became one. I had seen a few and reacted as you did, but they were very few and far between. In fact there were only three. I've thought about it often. One of them was a cowboy with only one arm. The other was a man who, like me, had nothing where a stump would have been, and I only saw him once. The third was a man who was driving by when I was riding my horse along the road. He stopped and asked directions and I looked in at the car window and noticed he had a stump that was above the knee and his trouser leg was flapped up over it. I stared at it so much while I was trying to tell him the directions that he commented on it. He said, `Ain't cha ever seen a one-legged guy before?' I don't remember what I answered, then he drove on."

"But you met a number of amputees in the hospital? Yeah, so did I, but I didn't have any reaction at all. I guess I was too far gone in my own loss or depression or self-pity or whatever it was to notice. Didn't you have any of those problems when you were amputated?" He looked at me with a slight frown.

"Yeah, some. My biggest reaction was when I learned what had to be done about the cancer. You see, I had time to think about the fact that I was going to lose a leg. You apparently lost yours in one gigantic mess of an accident. And then you had to wake up to the fact. I knew well in advance. I knew that if they didn't take the leg, the cancer could spread to my pelvic area and the doctor showed me what could happen then. They remove the entire pelvis, they saw you in half. Can you imagine trying to live with no balls, no cock, no asshole? When you're faced with a possible choice like that, you consider yourself lucky to lose only a leg. At least that was my point of view."

Gordon looked stunned. "You mean, they can actually saw you in half and you can survive? Holy God! All of a sudden I feel lucky!"

"Nobody is lucky to lose any limb. You and I are losers. But we can always look around and find some reason to say `but for the grace of God, there go I.' I've lost only one out of four, you've lost two. What about the guys who have lost three? What about the ones who have lost or were born without all four?" When I finished saying that, Gordon looked at me and grinned. "What's so funny?"

"I was thinking that the guys with only one limb left and without any limbs, you'd find both of them far more attractive than I am. Maybe it's a good thing there are people who like us as we are. Missing limbs. We know that someone likes us." He paused and looked at me for a long moment. Then, "I can honestly say you have given me something to live for. You and Bill. But you mostly. At the moment I almost enjoy being a double amputee. . .I guess I enjoy being admired because of it."

I smiled at him. "May I spend the night with you? We may wake up in the middle of the night and want to enjoy looking at each other some more."

"I was afraid you'd never ask," he said and, sitting up, pulled the covers down so we could get into bed.

We lay in each other's arms and went to sleep like that. And yes, we did wake up some time later and went at it again, this time he came close to sucking my cock to its conclusion. As I said, he learns fast.

The next morning we went our separate ways, but we've seen each other since then. When he had completed his visit with his sister, he came to the ranch because I got back from Chicago at about that time.

Since we'd arranged that he would come visit, I had my saddle-maker modify an old saddle with two leather "sockets" so he could ride. He stayed with me for over three weeks and became a fairly good horseman. With more time he could be really good! And I had his son fly out to drive back with him.

Being able to do little things like that makes me glad I'm a wealthy bastard.

Oh yes. One more thing. He's coming back out. To stay.

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