Is Getting What You Want Worth It?

Anonymous

I am 37 years old, sound in mind and sound in body. I know because I was recently forced to undergo both a complete mental examination and a complete physical, although from the very beginning my doctor told the judge that I was OK. This article is anonymous because I don't want to be pestered by every Tom's Dick and Hairy.

So what's the deal?

Well, I'll have to start with my childhood and work down to the night of April 12, 1992.

As long as I can remember I have wanted desperately to be an amputee. You will now start thinking "Did he say `sound in mind'?"

The problem is, and this was proven in court, that there are hundreds of others just like me, a phenomenon which the medical establishment and the psychology establishment have pooh-poohed, ignored, down-graded, and claimed entirely impossible, consequently it was a non-existant mental illness, and the person suffering from it was mentally ill. How's that for making sense?

You know as well as I that there are lots of men and women out there who want to lose a limb, and some of them want to lose it so badly that they shoot themselves in the leg with shotguns, roll under railroad trains, take chain saws to their legs. I know personally a man who cut off the head of his cock! How's that for making sense?

Those of us who have this obsession and this frustration, can tell you that at times it is a living hell. We do all we can to assuage it, to sublimate it, to eradicate it, but to no avail.

And now I'll leave generalities, and get down to the brass tacks, the reason for writing this short tract.

My affliction is a double whammy: I want to lose a limb or two and I want to make love to men who have lost their legs. I'm a wannabe and a devotee simultaneously.

I was about twenty when I got hold of a photograph of an amputee. That started a collection which has reached rather large proportions. With the advent of the VCR and the home video camera, I started a collection of amputee videos. Just eight months ago I got a particularly potent video of a double above the knee amputee, which is my favorite form of amputation. The guy without legs was very personable and pleasant. The video showed him in every conceivable situation: in bed, in his wheelchair, walking on his prostheses. It showed him naked, dressed, showering, shaving, cooking, eating. The only things he didn't do on camera were jack off, defecate and urinate. These were left to the viewer's imagination.

I watched that video so often I had it memorized, but even so, every time I watched it, it had the same tremendous effect it had when I first saw it. It made me hornier than hell, but it also made me miserable because I wasn't a DAK like him. The last time I saw it was April 12, 1992. I had gone to bed late and in my usual mood of frustration because I wasn't a double amputee. I wondered if I should watch it again, and decided against it. About 11:30 I turned out the light and went to sleep, only to wake with a start from a weird dream where the guy in the video appeared insisting that I watch the video. I turned on the light. It was 12:30.

For some reason I took the dream seriously. I got the tape, turned on the TV and the VCR and started playing it. It was the usual thing at first, then I noticed something which damned near gave me a heart attack. The amputee was not the same one I had been watching for so many weeks. No. It was a different amputee. I watched spellbound, and slowly discovered that I was the amputee doing all these things, I was the legless guy on the TV screen. After I got over the shock of seeing myself as a DAK, I began to watch with fascination as I did all the things that the other amputee had done when he made the video. It was the same video exactly but with a different actor. Me.

Then I realized that it was impossible, that I was still asleep and dreaming. So I turned off the light, rolled over and went to back to sleep.

The next morning is one of those things you relive and relive and relive, with shock, horror, fascination and finally triumph.

I woke up in that wonderful warm, drowsy half-sleep, and I rolled over on my back and put my arms out and started to stretch my entire body like a cat.

But I couldn't feel the rest of my body. I literally stopped breathing for several seconds.

Where were my toes?

My heart started pounding so hard I could scarcely breathe. I looked down at the bed covers and I saw where my body ended half way down the bed. I reached in, felt my pajama bottoms and my thighs, and ran my hand down them and they sank around two curved -- curved what? I felt for my legs and my hands found two stumps. I screamed and sat up in bed, throwing the covers back.

I looked down and there I was, a double amputee. I saw the pajama legs empty beyond where the stumps stopped.

I started muttering to myself strange things like, "You made it old boy, you did it." "Now you won't have to worry any more or be frustrated. You did it!" And I started laughing and I laughed until I cried. And I repeated over and over "Nobody's gonna believe this nobody's gonna believe this nobody's gonna believe this!"

Then I remembered the tape and I started to get out of bed to go check it and fell on the floor! It hurt. My new stumps were very sensitive. So I started swinging myself along on my hands just like I had done in the video. I got to the TV and checked. Sure enough the VCR was still on and a tape was still in it, but rewound. The TV set was off. I don't remember turning it off, but it was off.

I turned the TV on, punched in the VCR channel, and hit the VCR play button.

With fascination I watched the familiar beginning, with the DAK doing sit-ups. It wasn't me it was the original guy.

I turned it off and swung back to the bed. I had trouble getting back in, but that's where I wanted to be and I picked up the bedside phone, got information to get the number of my doctor and I called him. I told his service it was urgent and hung up. In five minutes the phone rang and he was on the phone.

I tried to tell him that I was a double amputee and he had a problem following me, so I slowed down and begged him to come over to my apartment that I was desperate. He sounded alarmed and within thirty minutes he was at the front door and so was I, opening it for him.

When he looked down and saw me I thought he was going to faint. Of course he wanted to know when and why and what and who and I kept telling him that last night I was OK and that this morning I was an amputee. I could see his mind working to call the boys in the white coats. So I sat him down and explained about my wannabe and devotee selves and, although he looked very skeptical, he began to relax.

Then he made a suggestion that I thought was rather good. He said he knew a psychic and would I see her and allow her to examine me? I agreed immediately. He called his office and got her number and then dialed her. He woke her up.

She said she'd be over in about half an hour. While we waited for her, we went over--he went over the story at least two more times, and he also had me remove my pajamas so he could examine the stumps. To his consternation there were no scars. No trace of surgery.

When he had finished, I put my pajamas back on and swung myself into the kitchen and with his help put coffee on. I had a lot of trouble with swinging myself along on my ass, my pajama legs kept dragging under me and so I stopped and knotted each one. That helped but not much. Obviously I've had no practise.

We had hardly got a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang and the doc went to answer it. I followed him into the living room, listening to his explanation and correcting him when he omitted something.

He introduced me to a woman who was perhaps 40, maybe 60. No makeup, bad clothes. Obviously she had just awakened. I offered her coffee which she accepted with gratitude and I started toward the kitchen to get it, but then I remembered I was an amputee walking on my hands, so I said that since I couldn't carry it, maybe she'd come with me. She did.

She carried my cup back to the living room, too. We all sat down with me on the floor because I couldn't get myself up on the sofa or into a chair. I was going to have to do a lot of practising. The doc, homophobic bastard, didn't offer to help.

The doctor, with a lot of help from me, explained in essence that I had gone to bed with two normal legs and woke up with the legs gone from there down--he pointed at my stumps--the stumps showing no signs of surgery, no scars. I told her about the tape, about my life-long desire to be an amputee and about seeing myself in the tape and, thinking it was a dream, went to sleep. I gave her the entire story.

She closed her eyes and sat very still for about ten minutes, then she opened them and looked at me and said, "This has been the most extraordinary case of psychic surgery I've ever heard of. I have been told by your guides that through the strength of your desire you created the surgery which removed your legs. It's exactly as if you had been born without them, that's why there are no scars." She looked at the doc. "It's clearly a case of self-created psychic surgery."

He didn't look very happy.

Then the psychic looked at me and asked me how I felt. I told her I felt wonderful, that I felt fulfilled. I also said that it wasn't going to be easy because I had a good job and if I just went to work as usual today, half the office would faint and the other half would run screaming to the nearest exit. They had seen me yesterday on two legs. I had played on the office softball team just last weekend. They knew I didn't have artificial limbs to remove and leave at home.

"But since I can't walk very well and can't drive at all, and since I don't even have a wheelchair, I'm not going to get to work," I said.

"Whose chair is that by the front door?" the psychic asked.

"Chair by the -- " I looked at the doc. "Was there a chair there when you got here?"

"No, at least I didn't see one," he answered, heading for the door. I followed on the floor. He opened the door and sure enough there was a shiny new wheelchair there with a large piece of paper tied to one of the arms with red ribbon.

Doc pushed the chair in and closed the door. He pulled the paper off and gave it to me. It was an envelope which I opened with shaking hands. I pulled out a sheet of paper on which was written in a kind of scrawl "Enjoy!"

The psychic fairly shouted with excitement. "This is going to make the greatest story ever told when they read it in Fate magazine."

The good doc was not very happy. "It's not going to be easy for me either. By law I have to report an amputation which wasn't an amputation, and the newspapers will get this story----oh Christ Almighty what a mess!"

He looked at me and said, "You haven't been to my office in three months. Where did you have the amputation done and who was the plastic surgeon who removed the scars? Even if you won't tell, I can trace the amputaton by contacting every hospital in the nation and I intend to do it. So save me the trouble and tell me now when and where you had this done and give me the names of the surgeons who worked on you!"

Well, I couldn't tell him anything like that because it never happened. I woke up a double amputee and that's the complete truth. The psychic tried to reason with the doctor, but he accused her of being in cahoots with me and she got very angry and said she had never seen me before and that it was he who had called her in on the case, not me.

I reminded him that everyone in my office knew exactly where I'd been for the last three months -- at my desk -- and that they also saw me on two legs yesterday. He groaned and gave up. "OK, I'll report it as a psychic operation and become the laughing stock of the whole AMA!"

I almost felt sorry for him.

He left because he had hospital calls to make and the psychic asked my permission to write it up and I told her to go ahead. So she said she'd be back for pictures.

Well, I decided to go to work anyway, even though I was late. So I called my boss and said I'd be a little late as something strange had happened and I was trying to cope with it as best I could and I tried to warn my boss that he would be terribly shocked by my appearance.

It took a while to shower since I had trouble getting into the tub, but I kept remembering things from the video and they really helped. By the time I got dressed, and had pinned my pant legs up over my stumps, I was beginning to think that the video was a training film and that it had all been planned very well. Then I called the cab company and asked if they could take a wheelchair. They said they could so I had transportation with my brand new chair, a gift from -- ?

My arrival at the office created a scene far greater than the one I described for the doc. It was great fun. Seeing the look of shock, fear, horror, fascination (I discovered fellow amp lovers that morning!), accompanied in some cases by libidinous outbursts. Actually I had more offers for sex that day than I've had in all my 37 years. I began to think that I had been exceptionally dull up to the loss of my two legs.

My boss called me into his office and explained that he had no idea that I had been using artificial limbs all these years. I told him to ring up the company staff M.D. and ask him what he thought. My boss made the call and almost wept, when he told me that, yes, yesterday I had had two legs. The company M.D. said so.

He asked "How?"

I told him straight out what the psychic had said and that my doctor was going to report it as psychic surgery. He immediately got on the intercom and told the in-house newspaper people to show up with camera immediately. You can guess the rest.

Well, about a week later after the city's newspaper, TV and radio stations had spread the word about the strange psychic surgery, a group of Concerned Citizens approached my doctor and asked him to have me committed, that I was obviously totally wacko. My doc told them to go to hell, although not in so many words. So they went to a judge and demanded that I be committed before I attacked their children and cut off all their little arms and legs or -- shudder! even worse -- cut off their arms and legs! They also declared that I was a witch, or whatever you call a man witch, and should be burnt or hanged or something. Would you believe it? Yeah, I knew you would. The world is full of people like that.

The judge was a right guy. He scheduled a hearing after I had been examined by several doctors and psychiatrists. So I went through all that nonsense. They all found I was a perfectly OK guy and gave the judge a series of lengthy reports which were read in court and listened to with concern by the Concerned Citizens. They all said that my wannabe "malady" was commonplace (cover-up!) and nothing to concern anyone. Meanwhile I continued with my work, having no legs doesn't prevent my sitting at my desk, running my computer and doing my job.

But I can say this for being a DAK. It's like being a blonde: DAKs have more fun! I know. I've never had so much fun in my life!

Yup! Getting what you want is really worth it!

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