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| Part 2 by Castgimp |
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| His laugh caught me off guard. There was that amazing smile again, and thistime it was accompanied by the sound of his deep laugh. He was lying inbed, on top of the covers, in the only shorts and sweatshirt I'd ever seenhim wear. His right leg was bare, as was his foot. His left leg, rigid inits hard fiber casing, was resting on a pile of pillows. His toes stuck upand out of the cast, looking almost exactly as I had pictured them thismorning when I was jerking off in the shower. "Thank you," he said. "Idon't mind. That was very thoughtful of you." "Sure," I said, my confidence growing. "No problem. I figured, you know,with your broken leg and all, it must be kind of hard getting around." Iset the tray down on the small table by the window. "Yeah. It is kind of hard. Getting around I mean. And it's my ankle. Notmy leg. I broke my ankle." "Really? And they gave you that great big cast?" I knew that I wasventuring into territory that was none of my business again, but so far, heseemed to be talking. I desperately wanted to hear about his ankle, and hiscast, but I didn't want to press my luck. "Yeah, well, it's a long story." I've got all day, I thought to myself. Shit, I've got the rest of my life.The food was on the table and he was still on the bed and I was standing inbetween. "Can you, I mean, do you want to eat over there? I can set thison the bed if you want." "No. I'll get up. I shouldn't lie in bed all day." He slid himself overto the edge of the mattress and reached for his crutches. Then he pulledhimself awkwardly up to a standing position, leaning heavily on the woodensupports under his arms. I pulled a chair out for him. Two steps with hiscrutches brought him right up next to me. We were almost exactly the sameheight. I held the chair and he lowered himself into it, stretching hislong casted leg out in front of him. He winced a bit as he sat down. "Does it hurt much?" Another stupid, stupid question. "Yeah, it does. It aches. And if I don't keep it elevated it starts tothrob. From the swelling." "That sucks. Kind of wrecks your vacation I guess." "I'll tell you what the worst of it is." "What?" "This isn't the first time I've broken my ankle skiing." "It isn't?" "Nope." "You broke it before?" "Twice before." "Twice? You mean this is the third time?" "Yep." "Same ankle?" "Yep." "Skiing, all three times?" "Yep." "Shit." "Kind of pathetic, huh?" "Three times. Shit. You ever think about giving up skiing?" "Nope. I love it. And the thing is, I'm a great skier. I just got badluck." "Three times. Shit." "This time's definitely the worst though. Major fuck-up." "You must feel jinxed." "Kind of. Listen, you wanna sit down? I wouldn't mind some company while Ieat. I men unless you have to get back to work right away." My heart wasracing. Of course I wanted to sit down. Shit I wanted to stay in this roomwith him for the rest of my life-just the two of us and his cast. Icalculated briefly whether or not they would miss me in the dining room.Fuck 'em, I thought. I sat down across from him. He had taken a largemouthful of hamburger and was chewing hungrily and happily. He seemedgenuinely pleased to have some company. "So..." His mouth was full, so I decided I should say something. "Threetimes. When...I mean how old...I mean when...you know...the first time."Fucking eloquent, as always. "The first time I broke my ankle I was seventeen. I had gone skiing for along weekend with some friends from high school. We were staying at a lodgein Killington, Vermont. My parents had given me a new set of Rossignols forChristmas and I was dying to try them out. Never try new skis and nightskiing." He was relaxed. Maybe the food and the company agreed with him.He chewed while he talked. "To make a long story short, I veered off the unlit path and into a smallscrub of trees. My left ski wedged between two small saplings and stuckthere. There I was, a bad-ass seventeen year old showing off my new skisand I lost the path and got stuck. As if that wasn't damaging enough to myteen ego, I was cruising along at a pretty good clip so when I struck thescrubs I fell pretty hard to the left. Ideally, the boot should havedetached but I hadn't set it properly and the binding was frozen. "When I fell, my leg went but my foot didn't go with it. Believe it or not,there was an audible snap. It didn't hurt like it was broken, but when Itried to stand it felt like an electric shock running up my leg from theankle." He stopped to finish his soup, slurping loudly as he raised thebowl to his mouth to drain it. I was glad I was sitting at the table,because my dick was stiff as a board. The table hid it for now, but Ifeared I would never be able to stand up again. "Well, by the time my friends got there and loosened the binding, my footwas starting to ache. We got the ski out but I couldn't put any pressure onthe left boot. So I single-legged it down the rest of Bear Mountain on myright ski-the Rossignols were new to the slopes, but I wasn't. Hot-doggingon one ski was something I had done many times before. By the time I madeit to the bottom, I had decided that I must have damaged the left boot whenI fell because it felt like it was crimping in on my ankle. I felt for surethat was the reason for the throbbing I was feeling. It never entered myhead that I had broken my ankle. When we finally got inside the lodge, Icould see that the boot was intact, but my ankle wasn't. It was all swollenup, and starting to bruise up. The discoloration was pretty gross. Myfriends took me to the emergency room and 2 x-rays later the doctor saidthat I had fractured my fibula." My silent friend was becoming quite thestory teller. Something seemed to have loosened his tongue. His one wordanswers to my questions in the dining room the day before had now turnedinto full-blown narrative. I was prepared to spend my entire afternoonlistening to him if he'd let me. I don't know if he could tell I wasenjoying this, or if he was just so lonely and bored that he was happy tohave someone to talk to and something to talk about. "The doctor put my ankle in a cast. My first one. It was a weird cast,fiberglass mesh but hard as a rock. It was the first time I had ever seen afiberglass cast. The doctor said that it was a lot lighter than the oldplaster casts used to be. My toes were exposed and the cast went to justbelow my knee. He gave me a pair of crutches. They took some getting usedto but I got around okay. Three weeks after that, my parent's orthopedisttook off that cast and put a shorter one on with a block on the bottom-awalking cast-and I quit using the crutches. Four weeks after that, the castfinally came off for good. I had to go through physical therapy foranother two months after that because I had something they call "dropankle." That was fucking weird. I'd be walking along and my ankle would gointo a downward position and not come back up. I actually had to bend downand put it into an "up" position. You could hear it click. The therapistsaid that some of the muscles had begun to atrophy while I was in the castand I needed to strengthen them again. Well, that's it. Not much of astory." "How about the second time?" I was so greedy. Like a little kid in a candystore. "That would be the fall of 1981, my senior year of high school. Snow hadalready fallenquite heavily in Maine. I lived in New Hampshire. With the same group offriends as the first time, I went up to Sugarloaf. It was like the secondor third week of October. We arrived late on Friday and got a lodge room tospend the night. We were up early on Saturday-it's amazing how it wasalways difficult to get up early for school, but getting up early to ski wasa piece of cake. We had a great day of skiing! The air was crisp andSugarloaf was running their snow machines to compliment the powder on theground-actually powder over ice-you've got to love New England skiconditions. Well, after skiing all day and drinking all night, we still gotup early on Sunday for another day on the slopes." His voice was animatedas he spoke, and I could tell he was enjoying telling me these stories. Heseemed to be reliving these high school ski trips as he talked about them. "About one in the afternoon on Sunday I was taking the lift up for anotherrun. We had to leave around three in order to make it home at a reasonablehour. Depending on the conditions the drive home could take anywhere from 5to 7 hours. This time, the fracture was completely my fault and I lookedvery stupid as a result. Even now I can't believe I did this. You know howwhen you get to the top of the chair lift, you raise the tip of your skiswhen you approach the off-ramp? Either I was too excited, or too tired, ortoo hung-over, or just plain stupid. My friend and I were talking as thelift reached the summit and I wasn't paying attention. I lifted my rightski, but my left ski caught the tip of the ramp. The chair kept going, butmy left leg didn't. Rob, my friend, stepped up and skied down the ramp. Ipitched forward onto the ramp. My first thought was about how I had fuckedup my ski. The ramp guy was yelling at me to get up because there wasanother chair right behind me. My problem was that I couldn't bring my leftleg up from where it was stuck behind the lip of the ramp. I didn't know itthen but my ankle was already gone. By the time I rolled out of the way ofthe approaching chair, screamed an obscenity at Rob-who was laughinghysterically at my dilemma-and tried to stand, I realized something waswrong. "I had the same electric shock sensation as the first time I'd broken it. Itold the lift guy that I was hurt and he got on the radio. I was trying toact cool about the whole thing and told him that I would boot ski down, likethe first time. However, I'm sure his mind was thinking, "this dope isgonna sue" and he made me wait for the ski patrol to show up. The medicremoved my boot, saw the discoloration, and I got a nifty ride down themountain on a stretcher behind his skidoo. When Rob finally skied down andmet me in the First Aid hut, the look on his face conveyed a single message."Not again you klutz!" Yep, it was fractured. I found out afterwards thatthe fracture was in the same place. My trusty orthopedist back in NewHampshire, who should have been on retainer by this point, got a chuckle outof it. The worst part was that my Varsity Soccer team made it to the finalsin the State Soccer Championship that year, and I had to watch from thesidelines. We lost. Of course I like to think it's because I didn't play." "Another cast?" "Yep. Same routine. Four weeks on crutches with the first cast, and then awalking cast." "No drop ankle?" I smiled at him playfully. "Nope." "And this time?" How much candy can one boy eat? "Well. I'm out here on Spring Break-no pun intended. Just finishing up myjunior year of college. A group of us put our money together to come outhere to Colorado to do some skiing. We go to UC Santa Cruz. We got hereSaturday. The weather was great, as you know. We skied a few hours beforethe lifts closed on Saturday. I was feeling great. I'd just aced mymidterms. I'm travelling with these great guys. One guy is from Germany.I was an exchange student at his house. Now he is over here studying, andwe brought him along. I felt like I was skiing like a pro-well, like a prowith two previous broken ankles. The snow conditions are superb. Youcouldn't ask for anything better. So on Sunday-the day before yesterday-wewere up early and Werner, the German guy, only he and I felt confidentenough to ski the black diamond trails. We both grew up skiing. The othertwo guys are more like intermediate, you know? Anyhow, we were zippingalong with me in the lead. He had forgotten his gloves and was wearing oneof mine. I don't know why but I can remember feeling very close to him atthat moment because we were sharing a pair of gloves. Every once in a whilewe would switch gloves to keep the other hand warm." Be still my heart, Ithought to myself. This guy is a stud and a ski-monster and a romantic andhe's broken his ankle three times. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. "Anyhow, we reached a section of moguls over on the back of themountain-just past Gypsy pass, I forget the name..." "Devil's Hold?" "Yeah! I think so. I should have known better than trying to hotdog downthrough the mogul field, but I was trying to impress Werner. I was feelingmy oats I guess. He is such a great skier. I was actually impressed withmyself for the first 75 feet or so. I went airborne several times andlanded just fine. Werner was about 30 feet behind me and he was smartenough to skip the larger bumps. I of course wanted to show off in front ofhim. I hit a big mogul too fast and didn't prepare myself for the liftoff.Rather than keeping my skis spread in a "V" shape, I kept them parallel toeach other and unfortunately for me, they crossed at the tip just before Ilanded. I fell. Boy did I fall. I felt like I tumbled halfway down themountain. I guess I'm lucky I didn't break my neck or back. When I finallycame to full stop in a heap, Werner was right there next to me. My leg hurtand I knew it was broken. Unlike the times before, this time the pain wasdramatic-almost unbearable. I knew I couldn't stand up. Werner thoughtthat I might have broken my back and told me to stay put. He took off likea bat out of hell down the mountain for the ski patrol. "I remember lying in the cold snow. I was beginning to worry that I mighthave broken more than my ankle. I eventually convinced myself that if myback or neck were broken, I wouldn't have felt any pain at all. I must havelaid on my back for the better part of 30 minutes. I was cold. My left skihad come off and took off down the mountain without me, and although I wasflat on my back, my left foot was perpendicular to the rest of me. I am notashamed to say that at 20 years of age, I was crying. That's how bad ithurt. It wasn't just my ankle either-the pain went shooting up from myankle, to my knee, to midway up my thigh. When I finally heard the skidooscoming up the mountain, I think the sound was like hearing Ed MacMahon at mydoor with a big check. There were two medics on two different skidoos.They immobilized my neck and put me on a backboard before lifting me ontothe stretcher. I can remember asking them about Werner, and they said thathe was down at the lodge looking for Jeff and Eric-my two other friends. "The ride down the mountain was a bitch. You know how hard moguls can be onyour legs and back when you're skiing. Imagine going down the moguls whilelying on your back, on a VERY stiff backboard. Each time we hit a bump, myleg screamed in pain. I might have actually even been screaming, I don'tremember. What would have taken about 20 minutes on skis took almost 45 onthe skidoo. By the time we got to the base of the mountain, I thought thatmy leg had to be broken in at least two or three places. The whole thingwas throbbing. The electrical sensation that I was used to from my otherbroken ankles just wasn't there. Have you ever accidentally struck yourthumb with a hammer? That's closer to the way my whole leg felt.Apparently, the medics had called an ambulance on the way down because therewas one waiting for me. Werner was there but he hadn't found Jeff or Eric.He said that he would keep looking and would meet me at the hospital. I canremember giving him the thumbs up sign. Why on earth did I think that wouldmake me look cool? I still had tears running down my face. "In the ambulance I can remember asking the paramedics to remove my ski bootand they told me that they couldn't do it but the doctor would. I canremember being a little miffed at this. Through my blue jeans I could seethat my entire leg from the knee down was swelling. I didn't see any bloodso I knew that I hadn't received a compound fracture. I was whisked intothe emergency room and taken to x-ray where some yahoo nurse finally removedmy boot and two pairs of socks. My ankle was swollen and already bruisedblack. Well, two hours and umpteen x-rays later they determined that I hadonce again fractured my fibula. This time I'd also hyper-extended my knee,tearing some cartilage in the process. That's why I have this cast from myhip all the way down. Thank God for fiberglass! A plaster cast would haveweighed a ton! Werner, Jeff, and Eric showed up much later that evening andbrought me back here. "And that's it. They're off skiing, and I'm stuck here. I thought aboutgoing home early, but it would cost too much to change my airplane ticket.Besides, I'm kinda responsible for Werner. So instead of leaving Coloradoearly, I'm stuck here. Let me tell you, I'm not looking forward to flyingin a full leg cast. The only good thing is that the airline said they wouldupgrade my ticket to first class at no extra charge. Even in first classthough I'll still had to stick my leg out in the aisle. Needless to say, myspring break is not turning out to be too festive. I'm supposed to be in acast for at least eight weeks this time. After four or five weeks he saidthey might put me in a cast that only goes from my foot to just below myknee. Apparently immobilizing a hyper-extended knee for a few weeks isenough to fix it. I'll have to go to the campus physician back in Santa Cruzto have the cast removed. The doctor said I'll need eleven or twelve weeksof therapy even after the cast comes off. I'll miss the whole baseballseason this spring and I doubt I'll be able to play anything even next fall.Well, that's about it-the final installment in the saga of the fracturedfibula trilogy. Pretty sad tale I guess." I was in awe of this man and his ankle and his cast. I was also vaguelyaware that I had been gone from the dining room for at least forty-fiveminutes, and I knew that was basically a bad thing. I also had an erectionin my pants that wasn't going to go away any time soon. I also wanted tospend the rest of my life with this guy. And it occurred to me that Ididn't even know his name, and I was pretty sure he didn't know mine. Andeven though he had shared his gloves with Werner, I was also pretty sure hewasn't gay. "That's an amazing story," I ventured tentatively, trying not to be toobreathless about it. "I'm impressed that you keep getting back up on skis.I think I would have bagged it after I broke my ankle the second time." "And I'm sure I'll ski again. Just as soon as I can get this thing off myleg, and get myself reconditioned. Coming down the mountain in that sled onSunday, I thought about giving it up. But by Monday morning I knew I wouldhave to get myself back up the mountain again. It's like I can't walk awayfrom it, even if I wanted to. It's like skiing is in my blood. I guess I'ma true ski-bum." "I hear you man. I would ski every day if I could. It is in my blood forsure. That's the great thing about this job. So far this season I havebeen skiing every day." Skiing was something I could talk about withoutstumbling over myself or making a fool of myself. "I'm probably keeping you from the slopes right now." "No man. It's cool. My shift ends in a few minutes. Then I usually headout to ski for a few hours-until the lifts close. Sometimes I go againafter dinner-only the lower slopes are lit for night skiing, but it beatssitting at home watching T.V." "I can totally relate to that." He slammed the table with the flat palm ofhis hand. "I'll tell you what the worst part of this whole thing is.Sitting in this room all day waiting for the guys to come back. Boredstiff. Watching mindless T.V. And it's only Tuesday. I'll go fuckingcrazy by the end of the week. I gotta get out of here. But there's nowhere to go. Obviously I can't drive. It's skiing or nothing around here Iguess. What the fuck am I going to do in the snow with this cast on myleg?" This was it. This was my opening. It was now or never. "Um...listen...I don't work tomorrow until dinner. I'm off the whole firstpart of the day. I'd be happy to, I don't know, take you somewhere. I'vegot a jeep. I could pick you up in the morning. We could go into town.Drive around. Get some lunch. It would at least get you out of this roomfor a while." His eyes lit up and a broad grin spread across his face. Myheart was racing. "Are you serious? That would be great. I am so fucking bored. I meantalking to you just now is the first diversion I've had since I broke myankle. I'd love to get out of here." "I'd like to show you around town. It would be fun." Despite my persistenthard-on and the giddy prospect of spending a day with this man and his cast,I found myself suddenly worrying about my lost ski time. I was on a roleafter all. I hadn't missed a day yet. Skiing versus the man of my dreamswith a cast on his leg-in the end it wasn't really hard to see where my truedestiny lay. I decided that, worst case scenario, I could catch a few nightruns after dinner. Or skip a day. It wouldn't kill me. "Cool. That would be great." "I'll come by after breakfast?" "Sure! I'll be here." "My name is Michael, by the way." I reached my hand out toward him and heshook my hand firmly, pumping my arm vigorously, like I had maybe just soldhim an enormous life insurance policy. "I'm Bradley Ferris. But people call me Rus-for Rusty." "Rusty?" "Ferris? Iron? Never mind. It's an old nickname." Somehow we were stillshaking hands. He was staring at me, and smiling. I was melting, tryingnot to drool. Sometimes I hated being queer-reduced to jelly in the close proximity of ahandsome man. I tried to summon all of my semi-repressed American manhoodin order to end on a suitably jocular note. After all, this guy was acollege athlete, who'd just suffered the third in a string of sportsinjuries. He had a broken ankle. He had a cast on his leg. He couldn'tski with his buddies. He was bored, and maybe a bit depressed. He washappy to have my company because I broke up what was for him otherwise anentirely tedious day. And let's face it-I could still pass as one of theguys. On the surface I still looked like just another all-American ski bum,freshly out of college, pursuing powder, moguls, and a pitcher of beer.Nobody could tell from looking at me that I was queer. And certainly no onecould tell from looking at me that a man with a cast on his ankle made mydick hard and my knees wiggly. That was my own dirty little secret. I knewthat the chances of spending the day with Rusty turning into anything otherthan simply two guys hanging was very remote-not even very remote-entirelyimpossible. Rusty was not a fag. Not like me. At least I didn't think so.I did believe that most men were open to some friendly persuasion. Andthere was that thing he did sharing his gloves with Werner-but still. I wasgoing to keep my hands off. No point in humiliating myself. I was justgoing to enjoy his company, and his cast, and store the imagery away forfuture wanks in the privacy of my own bedroom. So eventually we quit shaking hands and I gathered up his dirty dishes andcleared out of his room. My shift was done-I hadn't really been missed. Iheaded for the slopes, and skied my brains out for the next four hours. Iskied hard, pushing myself, taking every mogul and every jump. I skiedfast, and true. I was driven by a huge adrenaline hit, aided and abetted nodoubt by a serious surge of testosterone as well. I came twice that nightbefore I went to sleep-jerking off while I pictured Rusty's cast-the bend atthe knee-the gentle way it encased his heel and ankle-the broad expanse ofthe hard cylinder that held his thigh-his strong toes sticking out from theend of it-it seemed best to try to get it out of my system, and exhaust mylibido, so that I didn't find myself inspired to do something stupid thenext day. And even then I dreamed about Rusty. In the unreality ofhalf-remembered but deeply felt sleep images, I saw myself accidentallybacking over him with my jeep-and as I did, I could feel his ankle breakbeneath my tire. I dreamed that I sat with him on the driveway, cradlinghis head while he moaned in pain and we waited for an ambulance to come. Inthe freedom of my dream I held his broken ankle gently in my hands, tryingto ease his pain. Before I woke up I had accompanied him to the hospital,holding his hand in mine in the ambulance, and then I had brought him homeand put him to bed at my place, his new cast propped up on a pile ofpillows. It was the first day of the rest of our lives together. And ofcourse I woke up with a raging hard-on, and creamed again as I pulled my pudand tried to imagine the sound of Rusty's voice as he cried out in pain,strapped as he was to a sled on his way down the mountain, each bumpjostling the rough fragments of bone in his ankle. And the sound he madesounded to me exactly like the sound I imagined he must make when he comes-agrunting anguished expulsion of air and the involuntary articulation of thedeeply entwined twin strands of pleasure and pain. |
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