WARNING: The following story is made for enjoyers of natural body magic/detachment/disassembling people non-lethally. If you are not a member of that community, I strongly advise that you turn back now.
“Use grenade.” She said, nuzzling his cheek with hers as the soldier briefly peaked the doorway and sprayed the room with machinegun fire. According to the lone hit marker, one of the fourteen bullets found their target, leaving the enemy alive but wounded.
“I’m saving it.” He replied, pushing back against her face and squinting as her frizzy brown hair covered an eye. Taking two steps back and sprinting a single step forward, hoping to bait his shotgun wielding opponent into prematurely firing their slow weapon, he groaned as the goddamned dirty camper refused the bait.
“You’re saving it just to die.” She said, watching her boyfriend waste precious seconds poking hands and knees through the doorway to entice a glancing blow as their foe waited for their bullet wound to heal. “Just grenade the room and go.”
“I need it to clear point!” He said, knowing his precious grenade would be his ace in the hole for clearing the objective.
“You-… dead.” She said, watching her boyfriend’s character collapse in a screaming heap as an unseen second enemy slammed a hatchet into the back of his skull.
“Oh fuck off!” He snapped, lifting his hand off the keyboard and gently pounding the desk as he awaited respawn.
Returned from the grave, spawned far from the battlefront with only his own recently slain comrades around, his girlfriend repeated in the same urging tone “Use grenade.”
For her insolence, her boyfriend wrapped his chin and neck around the base of her neck and squeezed her soft, ticklish flesh as she giggled and squeaked in disapproval. She tried to push his head aside, but in her present position with his arms wrapped around her sides and her body slumped over in his lap, there wasn’t much she could do without tumbling out of his grip and onto the floor.
A few minutes later, the communists took control of Venice, and the play of the game was awarded to a brilliant tactician who in a stroke of genius and foresight bounced a grenade he’d been saving off the frame of a second story window into the capture point from above, killing three and leaving a fourth adversary so wounded that a single measly bullet directly through their sternum managed to put them down. “Used Grenade” the decorated veteran of make believe said, releasing his girlfriend’s neck so he could kiss her on the cheek.
“Is that what that burning smell is? I thought you’d just managed to ruin dinner.” She said, taking a deep whiff.
“I set a timer!” her boyfriend answered, gabbing his phone. “I still have… negative twenty eight seconds.” He said, realizing his phone had been on silent and had been vibrating from his bed for half a minute. “I think I got time for one more match.”
“Boi.” She said, voice as deep and masculine as it would go. Her boyfriend backed his chair up and wrapped his arms beneath the stubs beneath her hips; all that remained of her legs. Shifting her upright on his thighs, he spun his girlfriend around to face him and hugged her tightly, standing and lifting her up as he did.
“It’s Boyd.” He said, making his way to the dining room. “You’ve had eight months to learn my name, Monica, you really have no excuse for this.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Monique sarcastically replied, puckering up for a kiss as Boyd set her down at the head of the table. Boyd teasingly kissed her forehead, Monique craning her neck to catch his kiss on the lips without success. “Sorry you’re a bastard.”
“The bastardiest.” Boyd replied from the kitchen. Monique could hear the oven being turned off and her boyfriend putting on those stupid bear claw oven mitts he insisted he just had to have, but couldn’t turn her head far enough to see. “So, do you like your egg rolls as briquettes, or ashes?” He asked.
“Blue.” She answered, taking a deep breath and waiting to see the damage. Really, what could an extra minute or two of 425 degree heat do? As Monique waited to find out, she glanced around her boyfriend’s house, as if expecting to see something different. Boyd’s home was very… home. Not homey. Home. Neutral toned wood furniture, an ancient sandpaper colored couch with an itchy looking red blanket thrown over the back, landscape paintings that looked like they’d simply grown out of the stucco walls one day, and shelves filled with thick, uninteresting history books and inscrutable nick nacks that could’ve come from a show, game, movie, play, museum gift shop, or anywhere else. Monique felt like she’d wandered onto a film set whenever she dropped by, it had honestly been a bit uncanny at first. But, she’d quickly grown used to it, as the man who owned home seemed like a real flesh and blood human with quirks and stuff, not the emotionless cyborg that home would suggest.
There was one thing an outside viewer would find interesting, though by now the sight was so common for Monique that her eyes had completely glazed over it at first. On her second look around, however, she noticed them. Piled up in a ratty old hand-me-down armchair, on top of the plum colored suit she’d shed in favor of a grey hoodie with spaghetti stains on it, were her arms and legs, magically detached from her body just below the shoulders and hips with smooth skin over every stump. She smiled, inspecting her perfectly kempt, mauve painted nails from afar as her fingers and toes occasionally twitched involuntarily. She couldn’t feel or control them, she’d told Boyd it would be distracting if she could. That was true, but a bigger part in her decision to remove feeling was the simple fact that she enjoyed feeling no feeling. Having no ability to do anything or care for herself, of being at the mercy of her boyfriends magnanimity, knowing with certainty that he would take care of her every need, want, and desire, it made her feel so… wanted. She’d just had her first seven figure salary year, yet nothing made her feel more valuable or loved than being doted on by her loving, humble, potential hubby. Monique toyed with that idea, imagining a life with Boyd full time…
“Fucker!” Monique swore, the back of her head bonked by a hot ceramic plate which was soon set before her.
“Oops.” Boyd said flatly, clearly doing that on purpose. Boyd tucked a cloth napkin down the front of his huffing girlfriend’s hoodie, seating himself in the chair to her right. There was enough food on the plate for 3, and since Boyd would be feeding Monique he didn’t see any point in getting a second plate. “As you can see, they aren’t even burned a little.” He said, motioning at the fine de-frosted feast.
“What about that one?” Monique asked, leaning over and using her big ol’ schnoz to point at an egg roll visibly charred around one edge.
Boyd snatched the offending egg roll and stuffed it into his mouth, swallowing without chewing. “As you can see, they aren’t even burned a little.” He said in a pained voice, clearly burning his tongue and shredding his throat on hard unchewed roll. “Anyway, you hungry or what?”
“Famished.” Monique answered, trying and failing not to giggle at the idiot’s antics. “Start with the gyoza and just alternate pieces from there. And don’t skimp on the damn soy sauce, I bought that bottle and I will drink it if I want to!”
“Sorry I care about your sodium intake.” Boyd said, picking up a single metal chopstick and spearing a piece of gyoza like a bastard. He brought it close to his mouth and blew on it a few times, ensuring it wouldn’t harm his helpless charge, before submerging it in the small bowl of soy sauce in the center of the plate. “It’s just that, combined with your caffeine intake, I’m pretty sure your heart is about one surprise away from exploding.”
“You’re just jealous I love coffee more than I could ever love a man.” Monique responded casually, shrugging her armless shoulders and opening her mouth wide. She received a soggy pat to the tip of her nose, the salty stench of soy sauce filling her nostrils, before the piece was properly inserted into her mouth. “And I thought your aim was bad in that dumb game.” She said, mouth full of mince and dough.
“I’m Platinum rank two.” He said dejectedly, spearing an eggroll and lightly brushing it against the surface of the soy sauce before biting it in half.
“Those are indeed English words.” Monique replied, acting like she hadn’t listened to Boyd babble for hours about the intricacies of his favorite time waster. Not that she really minded; when she was sleepy and limbless, Boyd’s droning voice was like soothing white noise. She supposed that when you could do nothing but listen, you learned o enjoy it. Speaking of things she could enjoy, “Could you get me a soda?”
“Caffeine intake!” Boyd said, getting up dutifully. Returning with a sugary can of fizzy sludge, along with a green plastic bendy straw, Boyd pressed the frigid can to her jaw with the straw just barely in reach of her lips.
Rolling her eyes, Monique spent a few seconds flexing her lips and flailing her tongue to get the straw inside of her, then took a long satisfied suck of that delicious diabetes juice. “Oh yeah, that’s the good shit.”
And so it went, Boyd feeding Monique one bite at a time, missing her mouth once or twice or three times just to give himself an excuse to dab at her adorable dimpled cheeks with the napkin tucked in her hoodie, and giving her a sip every few bites. He fed himself while she was chewing, and without really meaning to they finished off the food of three people, leaving nothing for midnight snacking. Both were a bit bloated and neither regret anything. Loading the empty plate into the dishwasher along with the small bowl of soy sauce and one out of two chopsticks, tossing can and straw into recycling and garbage respectively, and returning the baking sheet, cloth napkin, and bear mitts to their proper homes, Boyd wiped his brow and let out a self satisfied sigh.
“TV?” Boyd asked without really asking.
“Sure.” Monique answered without really answering. She knew the routine. As usual, Boyd pulled out her chair and turned it away from the table, then reached behind her back and cupped his hands beneath her stumps. Lifting her out of the chair, her chest pressed to his, and scooting the furniture back into place with his foot, Boyd carried her to living room and eased her down onto the ancient couch. He’d dropped her onto it once, and surprised them both with just how bouncy the couch could be. Sitting beside her and draping an arm over her empty shoulders, Boyd pulled her in close and started browsing for things to watch.
“See anything you like?” Boyd asked, nudging Monique’s head with his cheek.
She shrugged, the trailing sleeves of her hoodie tugging at the big central pocket they’d been tied together inside. “Give me 10 channels and I will give a preference. Give me 10,000 and I will give no fucks.” She said, looking at the obscene wealth of choices available for streaming and not seeing a single thing that stirred a reaction.
“Then I choose trucks.” Boyd said, selecting a sensationalized reality TV show surrounding the exploits of long haul truckers.
“No, I hate trucks.” Monique said, tapping Boyd’s shoulder with her cheek.
“Then I offer this invisible violin for your invisible hands, so you can play an inaudible sad song.” Boyd said, setting the remote down and presenting his limbless love with an empty hand.
“You really need to get some glasses, my arms are right there.” Monique replied, looking across Boyd’s chest at the pile of limbs in the uncomfortable chair. “Give me one so I can smack your trucker loving ass.”
“Deal of the century, there.” Boyd said, dumping the invisible violin into Monique’s mostly invisible lap. “And you got that backwards. My ass doesn’t love truckers, truckers love my ass.”
That joke almost made up for the next half hour of trucker shit, the musical stings and rapid camerawork failing to hide the fact that long haul trucking was goddamned boring. Still, Monique couldn’t help but enjoy herself. Snuggled up with her walking talking space heater, incapable of neurotically check her emails or obsessively browsing her various social media accounts, she was finally able to properly relax. Some naysayers of limblessness said they just got bored and frustrated whenever they tried it, while other more staunch opponents called it objectifying, demeaning, and demanded that everyone should stop enjoying it. Monique never understood these views. She never felt more at ease as a person than when she shed her fidgety hands and pacing feet, when she was able to just sit and be… well, just be. It was super zen.
Harshing Monique’s zen was an onset of itchy nose, her face contorting as she attempted to will the sensation away. When that failed, she asked “Boyd nose itch fix please.”
Boyd complied, too wrapped up in his truckers to consider doing some sort of stupid joke or engage in banter. Leaving his hand on her shoulder for balance, he brought his other hand over and kneaded her big nose like a lump of stubborn clay. Boyd was pulled out of the world of long hauling by the deep, guttural moans of his girlfriend. Turning, he saw Monique with mouth agape and eyes rolled back, tongue lolled out like she was having the most orgasmic experience of her life. “You like that?” Boyd asked.
“Yeaaaah.” Monique purred, twisting her head and shoulders to get the nails digging into her. She locked eyes with her boyfriend, a smile spreading across her soy sauce stained lips. “Although, I do have another itch... a little lower.”
Boyd smiled, knowing exactly where this was going. Sliding his hand down, across her high cheek bones and over her dimples, past the sharp jaw line that he’d always thought would look wonderful as a detached head despite Monique’s total apathy to the idea, Boyd wrapped both hands around the back of her neck and gently squeezed. “There?” he asked, running his hands up and down her neck as he pushed and released.
“Mph!” Monique replied, biting her lip. Boyd wasn’t a particularly large man, but his hands were bulky square things with plenty enough power for her pleasure. Feeling that power around her long, slender neck, imagining just how hard he could squeeze if he really wanted to, what he could do but never would, it drove Monique wild. For a few minutes, she answered and encouraged Boyd only with nonverbal noises, and when she’d gotten her fill, she said “No, no, the itch is lower.”
Boyd huffed, hoisting Monique up into his lap. He’d never have been able to move her around like this with her legs attached, but without her limbs she weighed about half of what she should. He wrapped his hands around her shoulders, digging in and rolling his thumbs and the base of his palms across her shoulder blades. “How’s that? Does that hit the spot?”
“Oh babe, you know it!” She said, tilting her head so the tips of her frizzy, shoulder length hair brushed across his knuckles as they worked their magic. She felt him acutely over her left shoulder, where the strap of her heavy shoulder bag and only marginally lighter purse had dug into her flesh all day. The chaffed skin stung beneath Boyd’s grip, but the stinging slowly subsided as the massage continued, dulling and washing away until there was only a pleasant warmth. Monique took that as her signal. “Actually, you know what? I think the itch is on the move. It’s getting lower now. Much lower. Think you can get it?”
“You know, my hands are getting pretty tired. Perhaps we could take a break?” Boyd asked, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion.
“Come on, this itch is killing me!” Monique retorted. “Please? If you scratch it quick, I’ll pay you back however you want!”
“Pay me back with your no arms, or your no legs?” Boyd asked, playing dumb.
Monique craned her neck as far as she could, peering over her shoulder with a coy smile. “I think there’s more than enough left of me to satisfy, if you’re willing to satisfy me.”
Boyd silently agreed, setting Monique on the couch and standing. Monique yelped as her boyfriend turned her and pushed her face down into the cushions, before pulling her to one of the armrests, propping her pelvis up on the hard surface and leaving her butt dangling in space. Boyd walked around, straddling his by now giggling girlfriend. “Ready for your… deep massage?” He asked.
“Don’t be a tease, get to work!” She demanded, grinding her cheek into the couch to steady herself for what was about to come.
Boyd grabbed her by the hips, took a deep breath, and did as he was told.
“AAAH!” Monique cried, back arching as her boyfriend drove his palms into the small of her back. A loud pop echoed through the house, signaling a successful crack. “GOOD GOD, YES!” she screamed, as he twisted his hands and pushed up, creating a second and third pop in rapid succession. “DON’T STOP!” She ordered, Boyd moving up her back and unknotting her spine a vertebrae at a time.
“You know my neighbors are going to think we’re doing it, right?” Boyd said, glancing at the drawn blinds and blushing.
“Don’t be stupid, I’m never this loud during sex.” Monique answered, receiving a flat palm driven between her shoulders for her jab. If it was Boyd’s intention to punish her, it failed miserably, as he managed to get one last crack out of her back leaving Monique all but drooling and comatose.
“All right, I think I’ve earned myself a rest.” He said, rolling his wrists and shoulders sorely. Grabbing Monique by the hood, Boyd hoisted her into a slouched sitting position beside with her side against the arm rest, leaving him just enough room to lay down. Lay down he did, resting his head on Monique’s warm tummy like a pillow despite having a whole foot of unused couch space. Monique didn’t complain, taking a deep breath and rocking Boyd’s grinning, bearded head up and down. They didn’t say anything for a while, allowing the drama of the truckers to fill the silence.
When Boyd spoke, it almost startled Monique, who’d zoned out in a world her own. “You know something? I don’t get you.”
“Are you sure? I seem to remember quite a few times where you definitely did.” Monique replied, getting only a huff of air out of her boyfriend. Despite all the jokes he made and the stupid shit he did, Boyd rarely laughed. Huffs and smiles were usually all you got. It used to bother Monique, but over time it started to feel more like a challenge. She felt like she’d really accomplished something remarkable when she got him howling.
“Funny.” He said, in monotone. “But seriously, I don’t get you. You’re rich. You’re beautiful. You’ve got huge…” he poked one of Monique’s itty bitty titties. “Well, you’ve got great personality, anyway. You’re amazing. Like… so far out of my league.”
“UGH! With the league shit again!” Monique groaned. She’d really thought she’d heard the end of this by now. “Look, I promise you, despite what those incels online would have you believe, there’s no dating tier list we’re beholden to. We’ve been dating how long now? Eight months? If I had some kind of ulterior motive, don’t you think I would’ve acted on that already? I like you, I think you’re awesome, deal with it.”
“I never said you had an ulterior motive!” Boyd defensively replied. “I’m just… whatever. Forget it.”
“Boyd.” Monique said, looking her boyfriend straight in the eyes.
“Yeah?” He asked.
“I love you!” She said, with a mighty finality.
Boyd’s lips curled into a crooked smile, revealing a single snaggletooth that Monique always found adorable. “More than coffee?” He asked.
“Uh… tied.” She answered
Boyd turned back to the TV, but paid it no mind. Monique’s declaration was like a warm blanket draped over him, and with her tummy gently rocking his head, he was asleep within minutes. Monique stayed awake a little longer, watching her boyfriend’s wavy ginger hair sway as her breath rolled through it. While Monique had never believed in the superficial ranking of other people, she couldn’t help but feel she’d landed a five star man.