October 2002. Bloomington, Indiana
My name is Delaney Perkins. I’m a 22 year-old graduate of Indiana University, where I received my degree in sports medicine. As part of my graduate curriculum, I took a part-time job at my old high school as an assistant to the school's athletic trainer. My responsibilities are mostly limited to games and events that the school’s athletic teams competed in. For three to five evenings a week I work alongside Arthur Walsh, the school’s sober and stoic Social Studies teacher and athletic trainer. He’s a former Navy doctor with a square jaw and a steely demeanor. I can’t say he’s the most engaging and colorful boss I’ve ever had, but he allows a dry sense of humor to crack through his hardened shell during our hours on the road together as we trail the team bus to and from games.
My career choice doesn’t stem solely from an interest in athletic training. I have a high, almost insatiable sex drive. My high sexual appetite is combined with an intense fascination with casts, one that later evolved into a fetish as I grew up.
The first seed planted that I can clearly remember is when I opened up a book titled “Kid’s Medicine”, a colorful publication on modern medicine intended for the 11 year-old that I was. An image of a man in a pristine white full leg cast, hanging from a sling above his hospital bed, captured my attention like nothing before. I begged my parents for the book because of that photograph, and after a bout of petulant screaming, they caved and purchased it. From that moment on I was hooked.
I’d catch more fleeting images of casts in books, magazines, newspapers and TV, each image sending a brief surge of adrenaline through me. Classmates would come in with an assortment of casts, and my curiosity would spike, along with my heartbeat. I treasured each and every sighting and opportunity to sign and interact with a cast.
At age 14, I became attracted to and aroused by casted males.
First there was Trevor Bellevue, who walked into our homeroom class the first day of 9th grade in a highly decorated full arm cast after breaking his forearm at summer camp. Another handsome boy in my class, DeAndre Grant, fractured his wrist later that year and earned himself an eye-catching red short arm thumb spica for a month.
Two years later, my friend Andrew Harrington suffered a tib/fib break on the PE field during a kickball game. He wheeled into school a week after the accident, his leg set in a thick green fiberglass cast that extended almost to his hip. He caught the attention of the entire school, and my classmates fought over sharpies to sign his cast with.
Andrew was a fixture in my friend group, and I was treated to plenty of interaction with Andrew and his cast. At night, I’d rub myself as I thought back to seeing Andrew in his cast that day, his toes constantly exposed for everyone to see, especially the crowd of girls ogling over his temporarily crippled state. I wanted to fuck Andrew so badly in his full leg cast, but I was still a gawky and nervous virgin. I wimped out and just signed his casts.
I had some fun with casted boys in college, but those are stories for another time. Let’s get back to our current one.
September 19th marked the second home game for the Eagle Rock’s varsity football team. The first two quarters passed without incident, and I spent my time picking up cups, towels, and discarded bits of athletic tape from the sideline.
Midway through the third quarter, I was refilling bottles with orange Gatorade when an audible *SNAP* could be heard followed by screams and moans from the field. Arthur grabbed my arm and dragged me behind him as he sprinted onto the field.
Laying on his side and cradling his leg was #81, the 18-year old senior tight-end Cory Maher.
I knew Cory well. A year earlier I’d spent much of my summer break tutoring local students for SAT/ACT prep. Cory, a cute kid with a shy demeanor, was one of them. I spent Monday and Thursday evenings with him at his kitchen table, going over practice tests and discussing various test-taking strategies. Needless to say, I was distressed to learn that he was on the receiving end of the ugly snapping noise we’d just heard.
Cory screamed from the field “Call 911! Call 911 my leg is broken! Oh my god I broke my leg!”
We sprinted onto the field and had to almost slide to stop ourselves from running Cory over.
“My leg! My leg!...FUCK!” he cried out, over and over.
The team’s head coach, Pat Fitzgerald, knelt beside him and did his best to calm Cory down and prevent him from slipping into shock while Arthur and I began to inspect Cory’s leg.
Arthur instructed me to stabilize Cory’s leg above the knee while Arthur gingerly straightened Cory’s knee out. Cory’s screams immediately grew louder.
“Oh my god...oh god, my leg! My leg is FUCKED!” he yelled once his knee was fully straightened and on the ground.
“We don’t know that yet, just try to keep still” said coach Fitzgerald, in an attempt to console Cory.
But to Arthur and I, the grim evidence of Cory’s leg fracture was clear. Arthur instructed me to switch positions and stabilize Cory’s foot and ankle while he assessed the severity of Cory’s fracture.
“We have a potential transverse distal fracture of the tibia shaft, maybe the fibula as well but I can’t quite tell.” Arthur muttered, trying to keep his voice down so Cory couldn’t hear.
“Can you move your toes for me son?” Arthur asked, as he checked Cory’s pulse along the length of his leg. Cory gave his toes a weak wiggle, followed by a distressed moan.
Without looking up, Arthur barked: “Hustle up Delaney! We’ll need the cart.”
“The cart” was your average golf cart outfitted with an oversized back, almost like a truck bed, ideally suited for transporting an injured player off the field. The school’s athletic field was designed in a way that made it difficult for an ambulance to drive onto the field, so the cart had earned an unglamorous place in school lore.
Players from both teams took a knee, many of them with their heads bowed to the ground. I drove the cart onto the field and parked it alongside the group of a dozen individuals now surrounding Cory. The next step would be our toughest part of the night. Cory’s leg had to be splinted and then Cory himself moved onto the cart’s bed. A trio of EMTs had arrived and were already in the process of splinting Cory’s leg.
Cory couldn’t stop from screaming at the top of his lungs as his leg was lifted from the turf and placed over the interior of the deflated air splint. His face was consumed by pain and his hands clawed at the field’s turf as the EMTs buckled the splint over his leg and began to inflate it. While the splint was inflated, Arthur approached me and told me that as the only available full-time faculty member, he’d have to accompany Cory to the hospital, as per school policy.
Secretly I was crushed. I was concerned for Cory and wanted to be there with him as a familiar face while he endured a painful ride to the hospital. Another part of me relished the prospect of being with Cory in the ER and witnessing the whole process of diagnosing and treating his broken leg.
Once the splint over Cory’s leg was fully inflated, Arthur and the EMTs gingerly lifted Cory onto the back of the cart. Seated upright with his broken leg in front of him, Cory grimly waved to the crowd, now on its feet and raucously cheering, as he was carted off the field.
The game promptly resumed and I was back to filling gatorade bottles, struggling to keep my mind off of Cory’s broken leg.
The following Saturday evening was spent at a friend’s birthday party at a downtown brewery. Between my friends and a few too many drinks, I had completely forgotten the events less than 24 hour ago from the football game. My friends and I met a group of guys -- all in their 30s who worked in real estate -- and I let one of them take me back to his place, where he turned out to be too intoxicated and struggled to maintain his erection. I snuck away the moment he passed out cold, called a taxi, and collapsed into my own bed at 3:30 am. It wasn’t until noon the next day that I checked my inbox and received the following email:
I can’t thank you enough for being on hand and helping Cory through Friday night’s freak injury. Ted and I wish we could have been at the game to help, but I’m grateful you were there for him.
As you know, Cory suffered a complete fracture of his tibia and fibula on Friday night. We were well taken care of at Johnson Memorial Hospital, and the ER doctor was able to set Cory’s tibia in place without surgery. We hope to avoid surgery, and Cory should be released from Johnson tomorrow morning.
We have an appointment with an Orthopedic Surgeon, Dr. Diane Chen, at her practice tomorrow afternoon to determine Cory’s route of treatment. His leg was casted yesterday and his pain levels have evened out since. We hope to stay on this track if his fractures stay in place.
Ted and I think you did such a fantastic job at tutoring Cory this past summer for his standardized tests, and we were so delighted to hear the news that you had taken a position at Eagle Rock High! We imagine that Cory will be homebound for at least the next couple of weeks, if not more. And with both of our schedules, it will be a struggle for either Ted or I to stay home and help Cory.
If possible, we’d like to ask you if you could stay with Cory for a few hours during the day, 2-3 times a week. You’ll of course be compensated very generously for your time, and it would mean a lot to Cory if he had someone to keep him company while he recovers at home.
Please let us know if you are willing and available, and what your current schedule allows you to do.
Thank you again for all that you’ve done!
All the best,
Spend several hours a day tending to a guy with his leg in a cast? And get paid? I didn’t need to be asked. Caroline and I exchanged emails over the next few hours and she penciled me in for my first visit on Tuesday morning.
I met Caroline and Ted in their kitchen as they both were leaving for work. Caroline had left a detailed list of things to monitor, most notably Cory’s pulse and blood flow to his leg. He was asleep when I arrived, and I sat down in the Maher’s living room to get some studying in.
I went to check on Cory around noon. He’d woken up and was laying in bed playing Xbox, his cast propped up atop a small mountain of pillows. Pristine white fiberglass blended in with the pillows, giving his exposed toes a sharp contrast in color. His cast had been bivalved to accommodate swelling from his broken leg.
I took a seat at the edge of his bed and placed my hand gently on his cast, near the bend in his ankle. The coarse sensation of fiberglass against my palm sent a small shiver up my spine.
“How’s the leg feeling, Cory? Any better?” I asked.
“Not really.” Cory mumbled. “It won’t stop throbbing and it really hurts every time I move. I can’t keep my mind off it.”
Poor kid, I thought. I gave his cast a slight rap with my knuckles.
“Is your cast feeling okay? We should check for swelling like your mom told us to”.
Cory shifted his cast closer to me. “I mean, it feels okay, I guess, but I still haven’t got used to having it on my leg”.
A real life med equivalent of Cory’s cast
I stood up to start my brief inspection, as listed in the bullet points from Caroline’s note in the kitchen. First I checked Cory’s toes to make sure there wasn’t too much swelling or a lack of blood flow to them. I gave his big toe a squeeze and Cory responded with a wiggle. I had to admit, he had some cute toes. I squeezed the rest of his toes and felt his warm skin under the cast, a good sign.
“Seems like we’re all good down there,” I cheerfully reported, “now let’s just check the top of your cast and we’ll be all done!”
Without hesitation, I lifted the bed sheet aside, revealing the rest of Cory’s cast and his underwear. I made an immediate double-take at what I saw. My eyes traveled from the top of Cory’s cast to his crotch, where imprinted against his navy-blue boxer briefs was the outline of a thick, coiled bulge.
“This’ll just take a sec” I said, struggling to maintain my composure.
I took my index and middle fingers together and slipped them inside the top of Cory’s cast. Unlike at the bottom of his cast, there was swelling. But not under the cast.
As I probed my fingers down his cast, Cory’s massive penis hardened. It was impossible for both of us not to notice it. By the time I was done, it looked like a Pringles can had been hastily shoved upright in his underwear.
Cory’s face turned beet red as he stared intensely at the ceiling. I slid my fingers out of his cast and let my hand rest on the small piece of real estate between his cast and his crotch. I couldn’t hold myself back.