Seventeen-year-old Ozzy has a super-hot girlfriend who’s ready to take their relationship to the next level. Tonight. At the lake.
But a missing condom scuttles his plans for seduction. Furious, Ozzy takes his girlfriend home and drives off—into the path of an oncoming truck. He wakes up with both legs amputated above the knees.
When his girlfriend runs out gagging after one look at him, Ozzy knows he’s a hideous freak. He’s convinced he’s blown any chance of having a real relationship with a girl.
Determined to prove he can still be a man despite his disability, Ozzy throws himself into dumping his virginity, but finds there’s a limited number of people willing to touch legless dudes in wheelchairs. His obsession takes him into an underworld of brothels and escort services where he discovers the difference between sex and intimacy, and that sometimes the price is much higher than a sex worker’s fee.
Targeted Age Group:: 16+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I used to manage a cinema and we had a premiere of a film where the subject of the documentary spoke. She was such an extraordinary woman with such a positive attitude and point of view about sex and how even those with severe physical disabilities have a right to it, she inspired me to write a book about that subject.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
The characters in this book really developed as the story was written and edited. It's one of the first times I've ever written a book where the parents are very present and a big part of the story, even if their role changed considerably as I refined and edited the story. Ozzy is probably my favorite character I've ever written and I will always have an enormous amount of affection for him and his family.
Mom didn’t lie. She’s still there when I wake up. I turn my head and find her in the chair, chin slumped to her shoulder, mouth open as she sleeps. She looks old. Why have I never noticed? My mouth is dry again and I search around for the water. Ah, there it is. A whole jug of it, sitting next to the plastic cup with the kiddie straw in it. It’s right beside the bed, on some sort of low cabinet. I can reach it. At least, if I can make my body move, I can.
I’m not as foggy as I was the last time I woke up, so I’m confident I can do this simple chore. But first I need to sit up. I press my hands into the mattress and push myself upward. Sharp pain slices through my legs. I suck in air, gritting my teeth against it as I flop back into the pillows. Okay, so maybe sitting up isn’t going to be the piece of cake I thought. I guess I busted my legs in the crash.
I remember it now. The light, the car skidding out of control, the voices and confused thoughts. I crashed the car. That’s why I’m here. I wonder if the car’s redeemable at all. It’s a piece of crap, but it’s my piece of crap. I might insult it several times a day, but I love it. I hope it’s not wrecked beyond repair.
My eyes creep toward the water again. I’m so thirsty. I have to have a drink. It’s so close. All I need to do is reach out and shake Mom’s knee and I’m sure she’ll hand me the cup, but she looks so exhausted. I should let her sleep.
Steeling myself for the pain, I try rolling onto my side. It hurts like hell, but I manage it. Various tubes and wires connected to me tug at my skin, but I ignore it. Yeah! Chalk one up for Ozzy. What a hero, he can roll over in bed. From there, I try pushing myself up with my arms and into a sitting position. I gasp at the glassy pain, but this time I don’t give up. I wind up on my butt. From there I’m pretty sure I can lean over and reach the water.
I fix my eyes on the prize, measuring the distance. It’s not far. I can do this. Stretching out my arm, I reach for it. When my fingers close around the cup, I feel an absurd sense of accomplishment. I sit back, clutching the cup, surprised to discover I’m breathing heavily. Damn, I must be out of shape. Already. I’m going to have to get back into the pool as soon as I can. Otherwise I have no shot at Nationals.
I drink deeply, gulping down the cool water. I’ve never known water to taste this good. This is what it must be like for people who get lost in the desert when they’re found. When the cup is empty, I let it drop. It bounces across the bed. I expect it to stop, its progress to be barricaded by my legs, but it keeps going, rolling to the opposite side and tumbling from the edge.
What the fuck?
I sit up straighter and stare down the length of the bed, seeing the way the sheets and blanket lie flat against the mattress, undisturbed by the mounds of my legs and feet. I stare at the smooth bedclothes. I don’t get it. What is going on here? I’m dreaming. That’s got to be it. This is some full-on fucking nightmare and I’ll wake up soon. But I don’t feel like I’m dreaming.
Where are my legs?
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