Date: Wed, 13 Nov 2002 13:17:29 -0800
From: auto240353@hushmail.com
Subject: para boxers episode 4

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para boxers

episode 4

please email the author at auto240353@hushmail.com and
visit the website for this story at http://paraboxers.i8.com

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BRIAN

Sunday morning. I get up around eleven and hop into the shower. My stump is
sore and the hot water feels good on it. I don't feel like wearing the leg
today. The new one should fit better but it won't be ready until next
week. Those lazyass prosthetists.

I dry off, sit down on the bed, pull my racing Speedos over my foot. That
guy Steve is going to need a suit like this if he wants to go faster. I'm
picturing what he'd look like. His stick legs can't get much more exposed
than they are now, but I bet I could see his package better. My dick starts
to swell. Maybe I want him after all.

My favorite jeans are draped over the chair at my desk. I stand up, grab
them, then remember to get a clean sock from the dresser before I sit back
down. I pull on the jeans, the sock, and my sneaker, stand up and tuck the
right jeans leg back up into my waistband. I hop over to the dresser again
and grab a tight white T-shirt, slither into it. My hair is still wet; it's
short and all over the place. A casually messy look. What do I care, I'm
going swimming. A short hop to the kitchen. Nobody lives in these
apartments but students. I wonder if the guy downstairs can hear me
hopping. I pick an apple from the fridge and make coffee.

I hop over to the closet and get my crutches, shrug on my backpack, crutch
out the door. As soon as I leave the apartment building I can see the
Aquatic Center, glass and steel, standing taller than the trees. The sun
warms my face and arms. It almost makes me wish we had an outdoor pool, but
as I enter the building the chilled air hits me and I realize how warm it
is outside. I walk into the locker room. Sean is already there.

"Hey," I say, leaning my crutches against the bench, fiddling with the
combination on my locker.

"Hey," Sean says. He pulls off his shirt lazily. His abs
ripple. "So... what's this guy like?"

"I'll let you see for yourself," I say, smiling.

"Come on, man... is he cute at least?" He grins his sexiest grin, laid
back, but so... incredibly... hot.

I try to put a serious look on my face, but it's hard when Sean's so
seductive. "Just remember, I'm not gay, okay?"

He snorts. "You?"

"He's not getting here till one," I say, ignoring him. "Let's try to get
some work done."



STEVE

California State University, Rocky Beach. I passed the wide granite sign at
the entrance and continued up the main road. I knew where the campus was,
but I'd never actually gone in. I followed the signs to the Aquatic
Center. It towered over the other buildings. The sun glinted off the huge
glass panels covering its front wall. The lines on the parking lot looked
like they were painted recently. There were plenty of handicapped parking
spaces so I parked in the first one I came to. I got in my chair and
grabbed my gym bag from the trunk, wheeled up the curb cut and across the
broad white concrete squares to the entrance. I pulled open one of the
glass double doors and wheeled in, feeling a blast of cold air hit my
face. A guy with dark brown hair and square European-style glasses poked
his head over the counter on the left. The plastic nametag pinned to his
shirt read CSURB ATHLETICS and TODD below. "This is a private practice," he
said.

I looked up at him. "I'm here to see Sean," I said. "He's on the swim
team."

"Okay, wait a minute," he said, walking out the door behind the counter.

There was a second set of double doors to the right of the counter, but
unlike the entrance doors they were made of light-colored wood, so I
couldn't see through them. The left door opened towards me. Brian stood
there. His hair was wet and he was wearing his racing Speedos, which
exposed the stump of his right thigh. His left foot was bare on the
concrete pool deck. He rested his weight on his foot and on black metal
forearm crutches, one in each hand. Water dripped from his stump.

"Hey, Steve! Come on in," he said, grinning.

"Hey, Brian," I said, not quite meeting his eyes. I hadn't really forgiven
him for yesterday. The attendant held the door open as I wheeled through. I
followed Brian as he walked on his crutches. I watched how he swung the
crutches forward and put them down together, his triceps flexing as he put
all his weight on the crutches. He swung his left foot forward through the
crutches and stood on it, then he picked up the crutches and moved them
forward again for the next step. He was holding his stump up at a slight
angle, as usual. I guessed that was so it wouldn't swing back and forth.

We passed through the end of the corridor to the main pool area. I realized
we had traveled under the audience area on one side of the pool. There was
an audience area on the other side as well, large concrete steps rising
almost to the roof, like a coliseum. The ceiling was really high, dotted
with high-powered lights that shone down on the Olympic-size pool. I
noticed a few people swimming in the lanes on the far side. Brian turned
right, towards the closer end, the end with the starting blocks.

I swallowed as I noticed the wheelchairs next to two of the starting
blocks. The lanes were numbered 1 and 2. As we got closer, I saw that the
chairs were like mine, the kind an athletic guy would use as his everyday
chair. I hadn't even thought about who else might be on the swim
team. Lately I'd been brooding about Scott all the time.

Brian's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "Hey guys, take a break. I
want you to meet someone."

A head poked up from lane 3. But there was no wheelchair waiting at lane 3.
Then a hand on the deck, a left hand. He pushed down on the deck, lifting
his upper body out of the water. I stared at his right shoulder. His arm
ended in a stump a few inches below. He stepped onto the deck and stood
up. He walked towards Brian and me, brushing his slicked reddish-brown hair
out of his eyes. He stood as tall as Scott, about six feet. His skin was
pale, with a few freckles, and he wore black racing Speedos like Brian's.
His legs, pecs and left arm were built for swimming, slim with well-defined
muscles, but his right shoulder was atrophied, smaller than his left
shoulder. His stump swung back and forth as he walked, just like his arm
would if it were still there.

"Hey, I'm Doug," he said, extending his left hand towards me, turned over
so I could shake it like a right hand.

I reached out my left hand first, pulled it back, then took his left hand
in my right. "I'm Steve," I said, a little shakily.

"Brian told us you're a great swimmer," he said, smiling, his eyes the
color of pool water. He had a medium-pitched voice. He didn't seem gay to
me.

"Not really," I said. I noticed that he barely glanced at my legs.

"We'll see if the other guys can keep up with you." He looked over his
shoulder and yelled at the starting blocks. "What's taking you two so
long?"

A sandy-haired head popped up from lane 2. "What's the rush?" The voice
floated nonchalantly. He put both hands on the edge, backwards, and pushed
up. His arms were huge, bigger than Brian's or Doug's, bigger than Scott's
too. His body lifted out of the water as if it weighed nothing. Then I saw
that he had no legs. I did a double take. His legs ended in stumps, both
shorter than Brian's stump. He reached behind him with his right hand and
pulled the wheelchair closer, then he put both hands up on the seat and
lifted himself into it, so quickly it was like he jumped. His stumps
splayed in front of him at a wide angle. Like Brian and Doug, he wore
racing Speedos. He wheeled over, coming to an abrupt stop in front of my
chair.

"This is Sean," Brian said. "Sean, Steve."

"How's it goin'?" Sean said, drawling a little. His eyes, an intense green,
bored into mine. His cheekbones and chin were model-perfect. I was holding
my breath. He was as cute as Scott, if not more.

"Okay," I said, then I realized I was staring at his face. I looked down at
his stumps, then looked away quickly. My hands opened and closed,
remembering the softness of Brian's stump.

"These?" Sean said, and I looked at him. He gestured at his stumps, and
lifted his right one a little, the skin tightening. I noticed a scar at the
end, near the bottom of his thigh.

"It was a shark," he said. I stared at him. "I was bodyboarding off Maui
when this huge shark bit my legs off."

"Sean --" Brian began.

Sean cut him off. "Brian's not gay."

Brian glared at him. I looked from Brian to Sean, and then to Doug, who
shrugged, his stump shrugging along with his shoulder. "Sean tells everyone
he meets a shark bit his legs off."

"Aw, Doug, thanks for the support," Sean whined.

I heard a splash from the pool and turned to look. A guy sat on the edge of
the pool at lane 1. He used his hands to lift his legs out of the water.
They dropped limply onto the deck when he let go of them. My heartbeat
quickened. A para, like me? He reached back to pull the wheelchair over,
placed his hands on either side of the cushion and lifted his butt up. He
picked up his feet and put them on the footrest, then shifted his butt
back. He was wearing a royal blue Speedo suit that covered his legs from
the waist to the ankles. His torso and feet were bare and tan, a
brownish-pinkish color, lighter than my skin. His build was slim like mine,
but as he wheeled over I could see that he was pretty tall, taller than me,
and his long arms were more muscular.

"Steve, this is Danny," Brian said.

"Hi," he said in a quiet voice, offering his right hand as he brought his
chair to a stop in front of mine.

"Hey," I said, taking his hand as I looked into his dark brown eyes. His
short thick hair was a light brown, but his eyes and skin color suggested
he might have some Latin ancestry. I noticed his suit had small triangular
marks on it. It was skintight, revealing the shape of his legs. His knees
were close together, and his thighs and calves were thin, but not as thin
as mine.

He was staring at my bare calves. "Are you a para, too?"

"Yeah," I said.

He nodded slowly. He was still staring at my legs.

"Come on, Sean, tell us what really happened," Brian said.

"You're no fun," Sean said. "Some of my so-called friends in high school
dared me to lie on the railroad tracks. I fell asleep and a train ran over
my legs."

I winced. But everyone was groaning.

"We've heard that one too," Doug confided to me.

"Are we swimming or are we talking?" Sean said over the groans. He turned
to me. "Let's see what you've got! And oh yeah --" He turned to
me. "Brian's not gay!" He spun his chair and sprinted towards the water as
Brian dropped his crutches and grabbed at him.

"Why does he keep saying that?" I asked. Danny didn't say anything. Doug
sort of smiled in an embarrassed way.

I watched Sean splash into the water. He got in and out of his chair so
easily. He didn't have legs to get in the way.

Brian hopped back over. "Let me give you a quick rundown on classes while
we have everyone -- almost -- here," Brian said, looking back at Sean, who
was halfway down the lane already. "Every swimmer with a disability gets
two different swimming classifications, one for breaststroke and one for
all the other strokes. In each classification there are nine classes,
numbered from 1 to 9 for limb disabilities. The higher the number, the less
disabled the swimmer. In breaststroke, Doug and I are both SB8."

I looked at Doug. "It's the same whether you're missing an arm or a leg?"

"I guess they're equally important in breaststroke," Doug said.

"And Danny and Sean are both SB5," Brian continued. "So Doug and I, and
Danny and Sean, can train against each other in breaststroke."

"It makes more sense that paralyzed legs and missing legs are the same," I
said, glancing at Danny.

"What level is your injury, Steve?" Brian asked.

"I'm an L-1, complete," I said. I was still wondering how Danny got hurt,
and why he hadn't told me.

"Then you're SB5, S6, just like Danny," Brian said.

"What's S6?"

"I was just getting to that," Brian said. "Those are the non-breaststroke
classifications. I saw you swim freestyle. Do you swim any other strokes?"

"I don't like backstroke as much, and I've never done butterfly," I said,
thinking about how difficult butterfly must be without legs.

"That's okay," Brian said. "Anyway, Danny's S6, and Sean is S7. I'm S9, and
Doug is S8. So in freestyle, it looks like Danny gets to train with
you. The rest of us have to race the clock."

"Wait," I said. "So Doug's in a lower class than you?"

"Yeah, I guess because missing an arm is worse in freestyle," Brian said.
"Anyway, go get changed, and we'll get started. The locker room --"

"I'll show him," Danny interrupted.

"Sure," Brian said, looking at Danny.

"I'm freezing," Doug said, hugging himself with his left arm, waving his
stump a little. "Let's get back in, man."

They headed back to their lanes. Danny turned his chair. "This way," he
said, wheeling past the starting blocks towards the far side of the pool
area. He was taller than me to begin with, but he also sat higher in his
chair because his wheels were bigger.

There was no door on the locker room entrance, just a wide doorway with a
corridor that led to the right. Then there was a second doorway parallel to
the first one, offset so no one could see into the changing area from
outside.

"There's the shower," Danny said, pointing at the handicapped shower
stall. "Did you get a locker yet?"

"No," I said. "Brian didn't mention it."

"You can use mine for now," he said, wheeling to his locker and dialing the
combination.

"Thanks," I said. I wheeled up next to him, put my gym bag down on the
bench and started to take off my clothes. After I pulled my tank top over
my head, I saw him looking at me intently. I paused, hands in the air.

He looked away. "I'll be outside," he said, and wheeled away. I finished
pulling off my clothes and went back out to the pool area.

Danny was waiting in the water near the end of lane 2. Doug had moved to
lane 5, so I got out of my chair at lane 3. I noticed that there was a
rubber mat about a yard wide that ran along the entire edge to keep paras
from scratching up their legs. It made me feel really good. This whole
center was designed with paras in mind.

After a few laps of warmup we raced. We both started in the water, pushing
off with one arm. 50 and 100-meters, both freestyle and breaststroke. Danny
beat me every time, not by too much, but easily. I was panting, and he
looked like he could keep going all day.

"What's your secret," I gasped, clinging to the edge.

"I don't know," Danny said, smiling in a sheepish way.

"Can we stop for now?"

"Okay." He started getting out of the water.

Brian noticed me getting out and swam over. "Done already? You've gotta
build up your endurance," he said.

"Next time," I said. My arms were so weak I was barely able to pull my legs
into my chair.

"We practice at 5:30 A.M., Monday-Wednesday-Friday," Brian said.

"Did you say... five... thirty?" I said, staring at him.

"Yeah," he said. "We have to finish before the... other swim team
practices."

"Right," I said. I was too tired to argue. I headed for the locker room.

Inside, I went to Danny's locker, but I couldn't get it open.

"Let me get that," Danny said from behind me. I hadn't even noticed him
following me. I wheeled back a little so he could reach the lock.

"It's great to have... someone to race," he said, quietly, as he spun the
knob.

"Yeah, I'm really happy you guys let me join," I said. "Don't you usually
race Sean?"

He looked at the ground for a moment. "Sometimes."

I wondered what he meant. I grabbed my gym bag from his locker and started
wheeling towards the shower, then I stopped and turned around. "Hey, do you
want to use the shower first?"

"I'll shower when I get home," Danny said. I watched him wheel towards the
toilets. He went into a handicapped stall and shut the door. I wheeled to
the shower, folded down the bench, and transferred onto it, but I didn't
close the curtain yet. I could see Danny's feet under the door. He was
taking off his swimsuit, lifting his feet out one by one. He was completely
naked now. I found myself imagining what he looked like.

I snapped out of it, pulled off my trunks and showered quickly, washing off
the chlorine. I reached outside the curtain to grab my towel, dried off,
then spread the towel on the shower bench and lifted my butt onto it. I
reached out again to grab my clothes. Maybe it was selfish of me, but if I
couldn't see Danny naked, I didn't want him to see me naked either. I
dressed and then opened the curtain and transferred into my chair.

Danny was waiting by the entrance. He was wearing khaki slacks, wrinkled
around his thin legs, a gray T-shirt, untucked, and dark blue Airwalk skate
shoes. As I wheeled up to him he held out his hand.

"It was great meeting you, Steve," he said. Again his gaze drifted down to
my bare calves.

"Yeah, good to meet you," I said. We held the handshake for a long moment.

I wheeled back out to the pool area with Danny following me. Doug and Brian
were standing by the pool.

"You should come with us, man," Brian was saying. "It'd be fun."

"I can't, dude," Doug said. "I gotta study."

"School barely started and you have to study?"

Doug shrugged helplessly, his left hand palm up, his stump lifting in a
parallel gesture. "Rachel invited me to study with her friends. I couldn't
say no."

"Your girlfriend?" Brian said the word like it was dirty. "I've told you,
man, guys are more --" He suddenly noticed me wheeling towards
him. "Steve!"

"Hey, Brian," I said. "Thanks for letting me visit your practice."

"You're not just a visitor, man," Brian said. "It's for real. You're part
of the team."

"Yeah, totally," Doug said. Danny nodded.

"Thanks, guys." It felt good. "So, where's Sean, anyway?"

Brian glanced at Doug. "He, uh, went out for a smoke, I think."

"Oh," I said. "Well, see you tomorrow."

"Later, man. See you, Danny," Brian said. He crutched towards the locker
room. Doug walked beside him.

I turned to Danny. His lips were slightly open as if he were about to say
something. He looked at me. "You wanna go to my house? Parents are in Rome
on business."

After a moment I said sure, why not.

I followed him through the solid double doors. He stopped at the desk and
spoke to the attendant, who handed me a locker number and combination on a
piece of scrap paper. I stuffed it in my bag and we headed outside.

The huge building blocked the late-afternoon sun, casting a shadow over the
paved squares on the way to the parking lot. A hot breeze blew through my
wet hair. I spotted Sean sitting in his wheelchair just outside the area of
shadow, wearing only his Speedos and a pair of Oakleys, holding a cigarette
in the fingers of his right hand.

"Hey, Sean," I said, wheeling up to him, aware of Danny next to me.

Slowly he turned to me, his eyes obscured by the mirror lenses. "Hey, man,"
he said, drawling. He leaned forward, lifting his stumps one by one and
shifting them to keep his balance. His face was close to mine. He offered
me the cigarette. I looked closely at it. It was a joint.

"No thanks," I said, a little abruptly, backing away.

"You're... missing out... dude," he said, sticking it in his mouth and
inhaling deeply.

"I'll, um, see you later," I said. Sean leaned back and stroked the end of
his left stump, didn't say anything. I looked at Danny. He gestured towards
the parking lot. I nodded and followed him to his car.

It was a Mercedes-Benz CLK convertible, silver, with handicapped
plates. "Nice," I managed to say.

"I get around," Danny said, hitting the button on his remote key to lower
the top.

He transferred into the driver's seat, detached the wheels of his chair and
dropped them into the footwell behind the passenger seat, then lifted the
chair frame into the back seat on the passenger side. It fit vertically,
with the small front wheels touching the seatback. I copied him, getting in
the front passenger seat, lifting my chair into the back on the driver's
side.

We took off. Danny used hand controls like the ones in my car. He drove
within the speed limit, mostly. My first time in a Mercedes, thrilled by
wind and open sky all around. It was just like Scott's car, only bigger and
nicer inside. Scott... the euphoria faded a little, and I remembered: the
legless boy sunbathing in his wheelchair, smoking hash.

"So what was up with Sean?" I said, raising my voice a little over the
wind.

"He has a lot of pain," Danny said, not taking his eyes off the road. "So
he's stoned all the time. He's not much competition when he's stoned."

"I guess not," I said, wondering whether to laugh.

There was a long silence.

"How can you show off your legs like that, Steve?" he asked suddenly.

I looked at him. "What -- what do you mean?"

He swallowed, glanced at my legs, looked ahead again. "They're so tan. Do
you wear shorts all the time? Don't you mind people staring?"

An image struck me of Scott asking the same question. "It's okay. My legs
are part of me."

Another long silence.

"I hate the way my legs look," Danny said.

I didn't know what to say. I watched the trees flash by, leaves blurring.

"How long have you been in a chair?" he asked.

"I was in a rock-climbing accident two years ago," I said. I gathered my
nerve and asked, "What about you?"

"I was biking on a trail and I got thrown off my bike," he said,
emotionlessly. "I landed on my back. On a rock. I was fourteen."

"Oh."

"I feel like my whole teenage experience was stolen from me. Can you
imagine going through high school in a wheelchair?"

"Yeah. It must have been tough."

We stopped at a traffic light. A football player with a milk mustache
grinned at me from a billboard above. Milk. Strong Bones, Healthy Muscles.

Danny slapped his thigh. I jumped a little and looked at his hand, resting
on the wrinkled khakis. "You understand," he said. "You know what it's like
to have legs like this. I've never had a friend who was a para before."

"Neither have I. The guys in rehab really weirded me out. I got away as
fast as I could."

"In rehab nobody was close to my age," Danny said. The light turned
green. We rolled onward.




BRIAN

I shower next to Doug, stealing glances at his dick when he's not looking.
I think he notices anyway. It's uncut and hangs low in front of his balls,
which are large, the left one lower than the right. He's shaved so I can
see it all. He uses his left hand to wash his body everywhere, including
his stump. My stump is the same way, shrunken next to my good leg because
it doesn't have as much weight to support. I balance on my foot, touching
the wall occasionally for support. I switch off the water and hop over to
my locker and get dressed. Doug's locker is on the other wall. I sit and
pull on my sock and watch him put on his arm. He snugs it onto his stump,
moves it around a little. It's pink plastic and it looks sort of like a
real arm. The hand always looks like it's holding a cup or something. He
uses the arm to pull up his pants. The electric motors hum softly, bending
his elbow, clenching his hand.

"My new leg's gonna have a motor, too," I say.

"Really?" Doug says, looking up, smiling. "Does it let you leap tall
buildings?"

"Not that great," I say. "It just helps on stairs and stuff. Your arm won't
make you Superman, either."

"The grip is stronger than my real hand," he says. "When I first got it I
kept crushing soda cans."

"No way," I say. "I wanna see that. You sure you can't come with us
tonight? Crush some beer?"

"Yeah," he says. "Maybe next time. I'll see you." He slings his backpack
over his left shoulder and heads out.

I close my locker, put on my backpack, grab my crutches. I step carefully
'cause the floor is wet.

Outside the sun glares off the windshields in the parking lot. I spot Sean
in his chair. The long shadow of the building covers him. I crutch over
quickly. His stumps are draped over the front edge of the cushion and he's
lying across the low back of his chair, his head lolling back. He's asleep.

"Hey Sean!" I yell.

His head jerks up. He sits up and rubs the back of his neck. He pulls the
shades off his eyes and looks at me, trying to focus.

"Bri? What time is it?"

"What are you doing? Let's go home, man." I'm standing there, looking down
at him.

He rubs his eyes. "Where's my stuff?"

"I'll get it. Just wait here." I crutch back inside, shaking my head. I
grab Sean's backpack from his locker and head back out.

He's waiting next to his metallic blue Lexus IS300, digging in the pouch
under his seat.

"Here," I say, handing him the keys.

"There they are," he says, his voice groggy.

"You sure you can drive?" I say.

"As sure," he grins lopsidedly at me, "as a guy with no legs can be."

I smack him on the back. "Get in there."

He opens the door and jumps in. His stumps squirm, sliding his butt back in
the seat. I roll his chair back to the trunk and stow it along with my
crutches. I hop back around to the passenger seat and get in.

We take off. On the turn leaving the parking lot the tires shriek. He
must've switched off the traction control for fun. His left hand works the
hand controls, but his right is free to play with the shift buttons on the
wheel. He keeps shifting between second and third gear just to bug me, up,
down, up, down, jerking the car back and forth.

"Willya stop that, Sean?"

"It's called double de-clutching, dude," he says, smirking.

"There isn't any clutch pedal in this car," I say. "Wait, there isn't even
a clutch in this car."

"Deal with it, dude," he says, grabbing first gear. We're going about
35. The engine screams to 6000 RPM with a massive lurch. I brace myself
with my foot, swearing. Sean laughs, holding himself in place with both
bulky arms on the wheel. His triceps are huge and I can't help it, I get a
hardon.

"So," he says. "Let's invite that new dude over."

"Who, Steve?"

"Yeah, the dude in the red chair." He brakes hard at a red light. He grins,
slowly pulls off his shades, looks sideways at me. "He's, like, totally
cute."

"But his legs are like twigs," I say, trying to sound disgusted and
failing.

"Bri," he says. He wiggles his stumps, runs his fingers gently over the end
of his right stump. "I don't even have legs."

"And his dick doesn't work," I say, getting desperate. "It's dead."

"He's got hands, right?" He draws out the word 'hands', sensually. "He's
got lips, right?"

I flinch.

Sean looks at me closely. "You had sex with him, didn't you?"

"No!" I say. I let out a breath. "No. I told you! His dick doesn't work."

"Bri," he says, shaking his head, but he's smirking. "Did you know that,
when you lie, your stump twitches?"

"I --" My face flushes, and I see my stump twitching involuntarily.
Dammit. "Okay, but I didn't sleep with him. He sucked me off."

"Was it good?" Sean doesn't care at all, the prick.

"Yeah," I sigh. I guess it's good that he's not mad at me. "Yeah, he was
awesome. He did some amazing stuff with my stump."

"Dude, you're lucky your stump doesn't hurt," he says. "It must be 'cause
your leg got surgically removed, nice and neat, in an operating room. Not
torn off like mine."

The light turns green. He wrenches the throttle, I'm slammed back in my
seat. I notice a billboard on the other side of the road. A black-and-white
photo of a boy with no arms and no legs in an old-fashioned wheelchair. He
looks nervous. Smoking Causes Birth Defects.

"Sean, you've gotta tell me what happened. I mean, I'm gonna move in with
you. Do I have to wait till then?"

Sean thinks for a moment. "I was a Peace Corps volunteer clearing a
minefield in Cambodia when I stepped on two mines at the same time."

I can't even bring myself to groan.

"There were a lot of mines there, dude!"

"Just drive, man."

Sean's house isn't far from campus. It's a two-bedroom so there's plenty of
space. Even though we won't need two beds.

He parks in the garage and pops the trunk. I hop to the back and get his
chair. He transfers into it and zips around to the front of the house. An
aluminum folding ramp covers the two steps up to the door. He rolls up it
quickly and turns sideways so he won't roll back down, unlocks the door and
rolls in. I follow him, carrying both of our backpacks.

I drop the packs on the floor and crutch into the kitchen, grab a Coke from
the fridge. I'm standing there, tilting my head back to get the last few
drops, when Sean rolls in. He's wearing his shades and nothing else.

"Bath time," he says.

"Yup," I say, feeling my crotch start to swell. I follow him into the
bedroom, sit down on the bed, take off my shirt, pull off my pants. Sean
jumps out of his chair onto the bed and slides over.

He puts his hand on my stump. "What did he do with this?"

"I'll show you." I brush his hand away and pull my briefs off my stump and
down my left leg. He closes his hand on my dick. I grab his wrist. "After
you're clean. You stink of chlorine."

He bounces around on the bed until he's behind me. "Be my legs, Bri," he
says. He puts his hands on my shoulders.

I stand up slowly. Sean doesn't weigh much because he doesn't have legs,
but he still makes me top-heavy. I grab his butt cheeks and squeeze a
little, and he clenches his stumps. I can feel his dick and balls pressing
into my back. I take short hops into the bathroom, turn around carefully in
front of the shower. I put my hand against the wall for support and he puts
one hand on the shower bench and swings over.

He turns on the water. "Come on in, Bri!"

"I showered at the pool," I say. "I'll wait in the tub."

I close the glass door to the shower. I like having a big bathtub separate
from the shower. I hop over to the tub, sit on the edge and swing my leg
over. I sit on the bottom of the tub and look over at Sean. He's leaning
forward, washing his back. I wait until he starts to wash his stomach and
then switch on the hot water full blast.

"Hey!" he yells, swiping at the water controls.

I'm laughing. "Hurry up!"

As the water rises around my stump I look at it and lift it a few inches,
start stroking it with my right hand. What was it that Steve did?

A minute later I hear the shower door open and Sean comes out, walking on
his hands and butt. He swings his arms like crutches, puts his palms flat
on the ground, swings his butt through, repeat. He gets to the tub quickly,
vaults over the edge and splashes water everywhere. "What's the idea!" he
yells in my face.

"Don't be so pissed off, man," I say, wiping my eyes, smiling.

He glares at me. His face is close. He leans forward suddenly and his lips
crush mine, his hands grab the back of my neck, he "walks" his right stump
up my left thigh and his left stump up my stump until he's sitting on me,
his hardon meets mine so they're clashing like swords.

I feel his dick pressing into my stomach and I rub against it. I remember
the first time I saw him naked. He had the most muscular upper body of any
guy I had ever been with. Then he took off his briefs, and his dick
swelled, and I couldn't believe my eyes. His dick grew and grew until it
extended past his stumps. It seemed so out of place next to those small
mounds of flesh, leftover from whatever had happened to his legs. I'd
always been proud of my dick size, but Sean was something else.

He flexes his stumps so his hips bounce up and down and his dick thrusts at
mine. He pulls his tongue out of my mouth and twists his shoulders around,
puts his hands on the tub floor, lifts his butt and turns 180 degrees until
he's sitting between my thighs, then he puts his hands down on either side
of my thighs and does a handstand. His huge dick is level with my mouth and
his stumps twitch up and down to keep his balance. He handwalks backwards
towards me. I reach up and grab his hips and lean back so I'm lying on the
slanted back of the tub and let the front of his body rest against mine.
His dick slides into my mouth and I suck in as much of it as I can. He
rests his left elbow on my left thigh and his right palm on the tub floor
next to my stump and starts licking my dick, from the base up the shaft to
the tip. My balls are barely above the water, tucked up under my dick.

He says "show me how" and squeezes my stump roughly with his left hand and
I jerk it reflexively and bite his dick a little and he yelps. I pull my
mouth off his dick and it slides down my chest and my hands lift his stumps
towards me until they rest on my shoulders. I touch the end of his right
stump gently and he kicks it and says "ow, not the scar." I remember what
to do and reach in to where his balls meet his crotch and touch him there
and stroke gently along his right stump out almost to the end, avoiding the
scar. He clenches his stumps together and his dick throbs against my chest
and he gasps "aaaaah" and I say "you like that?" and I do it to both his
stumps at the same time, and then I'm holding him up by the stumps and
stroking him with my thumbs and his dick is free and I swallow it again,
deeper. He strokes my stump with his left hand and my stump spasms upward
with pleasure and he takes my dick in his mouth and moves up and down on
it. We suck each other and stroke all three of our stumps gently but
rapidly, accelerate together, our mouths and hands moving faster and
faster, his hips thrusting at my face and mine at his, the breath snorting
out of our noses until he comes, clamping his stumps around my face, and
then I come, arching my back and lifting his body up with mine. I sag back,
panting, let his dick withdraw from my mouth. He pushes up with his hands
on the tub floor and lets his hips swing forward and sits down in front of
me. He leans back and lies against me, his head on my shoulder, and we
rest.

After a long while we sit up and I let the water drain. He swings over the
edge of the tub and reaches up to grab a towel off the bar, tosses it to
me, grabs another for himself. I sit on the edge of the tub and swing my
leg over, stand up, dry off. He buttwalks out of the bathroom and I hop
after him.

He gets to the bed and reaches up to the edge and lifts himself up. He
brushes the sheets aside, off the bed, and sits there, looking at me,
grinning. His sandy hair is dark with water and his eyes seem to glow green
and he leans back on his arms, his triceps bulge, and I've never seen him
so gorgeous.

"Round two," he says, his stumps moving up and down a little, expectantly.

I smirk and hop over to the dresser and pull two nylon ropes out of the top
drawer. The sight of them makes my dick start to grow. I hop over near the
bed and reach up and attach one end of the first rope to the eyebolt
screwed into the ceiling. I pull the other end over and Sean holds out his
left wrist and I loop the Velcro strap on the end of the rope around it. He
grabs onto the rope. I hop around the bed and attach the second rope to the
ceiling. I grasp Sean's forearm and pull him towards me so he lifts off the
bed and attach the Velcro strap to his wrist, then I let go of his
forearm. He grabs onto the second rope as well. He's hanging from the
ropes, facing the head of the bed, his arms at about 45 degrees. His stumps
can barely brush the surface of the bed, but they don't support any of his
weight.

I lie down across the bed and look up at him. He swings back and forth
gently. He pulls on the ropes and his chest and arm muscles flex
beautifully and he lifts up a few inches, but he can't bring his arms
together and he can't get down. He's helpless. My hardon swells
painfully. I reach over to the table by the bed and grab a bottle of
lube. I squeeze the lube all over my hands and jack off with my left hand,
spreading the lube onto my dick, then I reach under Sean and stick my right
index finger into his hole, gently. He breathes a little harder. I stick in
another finger and I swing him back and forth a little. Then I slide my
hips across the bed, under him, and thrust my dick all the way in. He gasps
and tries to swing but he's stuck. He raises himself up and down slowly on
my dick. Then he looks down at me and starts scissoring his stumps, moving
them up and down, as if he were riding a bicycle. It feels incredible and
I'm about to come so I say "slower" and he slows down, then he starts
clenching his stumps together, from splayed out wide to close together, and
my dick is being squeezed inside him and I thrust instinctively and he
starts bicycling again and I watch his abs flexing and I'm totally turned
on and it's not long before I come.

I'm lying there breathing hard and I open my eyes and his hardon is huge
and twitching and throbbing, and he's kicking his stumps up trying to touch
his dick but he can't reach it. He strains his neck down and clenches his
abs to bring his hips up but he can't quite suck his dick either. He looks
at me, desperation in his eyes, and I get up, kneeling on my left knee, my
stump swinging free, my hands on the bed in front of him. I look into his
eyes. I lean forward and lick the end of his dick, once. His dick jumps and
he kicks his stump back and forth. I close my hand around the long shaft of
his dick near his crotch and stroke slowly up to the head, but I don't
touch the end, then I stroke back again. "Come on, Bri," he says, pleading.
I lick the tip again, once, twice, slowly, his dick jumping each time,
pre-come spilling out of the hole. I take the tip into my mouth, just up to
the head, and lick it a few times, then I let him go again. He swings
there, sweat on his chest, breath coming in gasps. I lick his dick from the
base to the tip, then again, then I swallow as much as I can and suck on it
slowly, letting it pop out, repeat, faster, and I hear him breathing
harder, repeat, and he starts to shudder and I let him go, he swings his
dick at my face "give it to me give it to me GIVE IT TO ME!" he yells and I
swallow him all the way and grab his butt with both hands and suck hard and
his butt clenches and his stumps crush my head and he comes and comes and I
nearly choke, swallowing, and I reach up and unstrap his right hand and he
bounces on the bed and unstraps his left hand himself and pounces on me,
kissing me hard. Sometime after that I fall asleep.

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please email the author at auto240353@hushmail.com and
visit the website for this story at http://paraboxers.i8.com

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