Constipated

I’m mentally constipated. I haven’t been able to think of anything to write since Thanksgiving. Even now, as I write this I’m having trouble. I have no idea what to write. Since nothing is going on in my life right now worth noting, I figured I’d entertain you all with a few stories of little NoArmsJames. Whenever I’m with my mother she loves telling stories about my childhood, and since Christmas just passed and I was with her they’re fresh in my memory.

Having no arms or legs means that I have a smaller body and can fit into smaller places. When I was very young, maybe two or three I used to love hiding and playing in the kitchen cabinets. Apparently one day while I was playing in there I thought it would be a good idea to throw all my mother’s Tupperware out of the cabinet. I don’t know why, I guess I wanted more room. So I grabbed all the Tupperware, one piece at a time and literally threw each piece out into the kitchen with my little foot. When I came out my mother told me now I had to put all the Tupperware away again. Apparently I looked right at her and said “but mommy, I don’t have any arms or legs” she countered with something to the effect that, if I was able to throw everything out of the cabinet, then I was quite capable of putting everything back in. I refused, and she took one of my favorite toys away for me. I never saw that toy again. My mother has no pity for the disabled.

When I was about a year and a half old my parents had another child, Stephen. Unfortunately Stephen had severe health problems and only lived about a month. Even though I had no brother that I could remember, I had my little cousin Craig. Craig was like my brother, and just like a little brother would do whatever I said.
So one day when I was about five, while Craig and his mother were visiting we got into a little mischief. Craig and I were upstairs in my bedroom, my mother and his were downstairs doing whatever it is mother do when they’re together. So Craig and I went exploring my mother’s bedroom and bathroom. We found where she kept the perfume and brought a bottle back to my room. We then proceeded to dump the entire bottle all over my room. My mother, becoming uneasy by how quiet we were being made her way upstairs to check on us. As she tells it, she knew it was bad about halfway up the stairs as the smell hit her. I don’t remember the conversation that took place, but I do remember knowing that I was in a lot of trouble because she didn’t yell. Even at five I could sense this was some serious shit I was in. I can still remember looking at her, seeing her outwardly calm demeanor, which I had never seen after doing something bad. I remember that sense of dread… I was fucked. I don’t remember what my punishment was, but to this day I still get uneasy when I think about that calm anger.

Throughout my childhood, I got spanked maybe three times. I only remember once, right after I called my father a mean old bastard.
I don’t remember this next story at all, so I must’ve been very young. I was with my mother at the grocery store and saw some little treat or something that I wanted, so she got it for me. A little while later I saw another treat that I wanted and asked for that as well. She told me that we didn’t have enough money for two treats and I could only have one. I protested just a little bit, and she told me sharply no, apparently I put my head down, closed my eyes and said “please don’t hit me”. My mother says that everyone around us had a mortified look on their face, wondering how she could hit this poor defenseless handicapped child. The funniest part about this story is, that she’s pretty sure that I had never even been spanked at this point in my life. I would go back in time just to see the look on the people’s faces. Man I ruled.

Those are the three stories she told me this Christmas, I’ll get more the next time I see her.
In the meantime I’ll try to find more things to write about. Maybe she sent me pictures of your tits, it would get my creative juices flowing… Just a thought.

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