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The Hand - 1
A comic gay erotic horror story.
You know how you can really appreciate having your right arm? Go six months without one. It doesn't have to be taken off by a great white in a surfing competition. That's my story. You could be just some middle-aged dude wave-boarding with your kids. Or you could be some horny honeymooner taking a dip off your sailboat. Shit, you could be some obese chick snorkeling somewhere. You don't even need the shark. You could lose it in a car accident. The point is, you lose an arm, you know what it's like not to have one. So you're grateful when you hear there's an arm available. You don't focus on the poor schlub who died or how he ate it. You just take the arm and run. And throw. And type. And use a knife and fork at the same time. And maybe, when you're alone some night, you jerk one out while your left hand gives your nipples a squeeze. Just like the old days.
Only this isn't like the old days. Not one bit.
The arm looks good, I'll give it that. The plastic surgeon did kick-ass work. Naked, even I can barely tell the difference. And it feels practically normal. There's just a little tingly feeling, but I can live with that.
Things began going to shit when I started dating again. Okay, so I didn't share the truth with this woman about my arm, but nobody could tell it wasn't my natural arm, so why bother? I had told other women but they were either totally freaked out or it was all they could talk about. So this chick I didn't tell. And, man, we were hitting it off. Dinner, wine, the whole thing. She was ready to go. I mean ready. We were kissing. My left hand was caressing her face and her hands were around my neck and going through my hair. Then she took one hand and squeezed my cock with it. All good, right? All the signals were there. The way we were going at it in this restaurant, I'm surprised someone didn't tell us to get a room. And then out of nowhere, my right hand reached down and pulled hers off of my cock. I mean, what the fuck, right? Thank god she thought it was some kind of joke. So she reached for it again. And again, my right hand unpeels her and pushes her off. I kept the kiss going but I was pretty freaked out. When she tried a third time, the middle finger and thumb on my right hand thwacked her away like she was some disgusting spider crawling up my leg. Believe me, the last word to describe this woman is "disgusting." Me pushing her away didn't stop her, though. She leaned in and bit my lip and whispered in my ear, "I like it rough, too," and then thwacked my cock through my pants. It was playful, I could tell, but my right arm sprang up. I wasn't sure what the hell it was going to do so I turned my right side away from her. If I hadn't moved, I bet my arm would have clocked her.
We walked out to the car, me making sure she was on my left side the whole time, my left hand in her right. And my right? Where was my right hand? In my pocket, jerking me off as if it had been jerking me off my whole life. The truth is, it was doing a better job than the hand I was born with ever did. This hand had moves I'd never felt before. Subtle squeezes. Little pinches. Each finger was a maestro of the skin flute. I think the woman was talking, but I don't know about what. I was more concerned about how I'd explain cumming in my pants because it really felt like that's what was going to happen.
At her place there was more wine and more kissing. I thought my right arm was under control. Her tits were right there. My hands were all over them, really giving them the attention they deserved. She was breathing faster, always a good sign. So was I, also a good sign. Then I opened my eyes and realized while my left hand was all over her breast, my right hand was all over mine. Yeah, I was tweeking her nipple the way she liked it, but I was also tweeking my nipple the way I like it. Finally she noticed what my right hand was up to and turned her head and squinted as if to say, "O-kaaaaay..." That ended that date.
Later on, I hooked up with my buddy, Ned. We met at a bar and I told him the story. He thought it was funny as shit. Weird, but funny. And I noticed my right hand kept lifting the pitcher and pouring more beer in his glass. When the pitcher was empty, my hand flagged down the bartender and pointed to the empty pitcher. My right hand was even trying to get me drunk, constantly lifting the glass to my lips so I had no choice but to drink.
Somehow I stayed sober enough to drive, which at the time I thought was a good thing since I'd be able to drive Ned home. Wrong. As we drove, my right arm reached over to my sleeping buddy in the passenger seat. It started unbuckling his pants and unzipping his fly. We were on the freeway by this point, so I couldn't just stop and pull my hand off of him. Traffic was doing eighty. I really couldn't afford to take my eyes off of the road, so while I'm trying like hell to steer the car to the shoulder so I can pull over and deal with the situation, I could feel my right hand fumbling with his zipper. And then rub Ned's cock. His cock! Ned's straight. And so am I. My hand very gently peeled back Ned's shorts and let his cock spring free. The whole time I'm thinking, "Jesus, Ned, don't wake up, don't wake up, please don't."
His cock was hard. And big. Maybe I don't have a lot of experience with other guys' junk, but I've seen pictures. Ned's is big in every way. Length, girth. And from the feel of it, he had precum oozing out. My finger swirled the precum at his slit and moistened the whole head and then the shaft. The fingers squeezed his balls. And finally, just as I'd dreaded, my hand started jerking him off. This was when Ned woke up groggy and drunk and half-asleep and confused as hell.
I told him, "The hand, man! It's the hand! Just like I told you!"
Ned, the bastard, just smiled and closed his eyes and said, "You got a faggot for a hand, dude!" Then his laughter went from ha ha ha to hunh hunh hunh as he came and came and shot his white jizz all over my car. And I had just had the frickin' thing detailed. Damnit. By that point there was no reason to stop the car any more so I kept driving. Ned went back to sleep and my right hand wiped up the cum. I thought at least it was cleaning up the mess it had made, but no. My hand smeared Ned's cum all over my face while I was trying to keep my eyes on the road. The hand even put its cummy fingers in my mouth, smearing my tongue and forcing me to swallow.
When I finally got home, all I wanted to do was sleep, but all my right hand wanted to do was jerk off. As pissed off and freaked out as I was, it was still tough to say no to that hand. Stroking my dick. Grabbing my nipples. Just when I'd finally summoned the strength to fight it off, the hand turned its attention to another part of my body and I was putty all over again. But then it started playing with my asshole and I had to put a stop to it. That's just not my thing. So my left hand reached over and pulled off my right hand, but you have no idea how strong that right hand of mine is. It just squeezed the fingers on my left hand until I was crying like a little baby. I got the message. So my right hand went for my asshole again and I had to let it. I kissed my hurting left hand like it was a boo-boo on some little kid. Then my right hand got in on the act, pushing its way into my mouth, getting all wet. And then its wet fingers started massaging my anus.
Look, I'm not going to tell you it was a horrible feeling. It was weird and I guess felt good because my cock was getting hard, but it was wrong, man. It was just wrong. I mean, I was getting finger raped by my own hand. On what planet is that right?
The next day, I went back to the doctor. I'd have gone to him that night if I'd known how to reach him. The doctor, he wasn't thrown off by any of this. Actually, he was calm. If anything, seemed excited. And his questions were bizarre. Not: "Do you want this thing removed?" But: "How many fingers was it able to get in your asshole?" And "Did you cum?" He wanted to know how many times a day I was beating off. How did the cum taste? Do I shoot more cum when I jerk off with this hand than I shot when I jerked off when I had my original right hand?
Turns out this new right arm of mine that I was so fucking thrilled to get? It belonged to a gay porn star. If I followed that world, I'd have known Bo Mungus had been smothered in an orgy with a donkey's cock in his mouth. It wasn't the cock that killed him, it was the quart of semen shot down his throat. The fucker drowned. And now I have this dead sex addict's arm.
I told the doctor I wanted it gone. The arm was reaching out for guys at the gym. At work I found it writing dirty notes to my boss. The women in the office tell me he's handsome so I'll take their word for it, but my hand writing him notes saying I want to flip fuck him could get me fired – on top of being just fucking out of this world creepy.
The doctor huddled with his medical team. When he and the team came back, he said they knew what the problem was and would take care of it.
"Take care of it." If ever anybody ever says those words to you, run.
When I woke up in the hospital, the right arm was still attached. There wasn't so much as a single bandage on it. All of the bandages were covering my fucking left arm. I went ballistic. If I hadn't been strapped down, I would have ripped the doctor's head off when he came in to check his work. All he'd had to do was cut off the arm he had put on and he made a mistake?!
The doctor was calm. Why not, it wasn't his arm jerking him off all the time. The doctor told me the incompatibility had to do not with my new right arm, but my original left arm. So the solution was to replace the left arm and keep the right one.
Yeah. You read that right. Now I have two new arms.
I am so fucked.