Loading a gun with a broken arm
I went from being an insane marksman with my little guns, to learning every bad habit in the book: pushing, jerking, anticipating. I went from being able to touch bullets regularly at 50 feet, to more keeping them inside a small pancake. Which might be good enough for self defense, but didn't make me happy. But this is all off topic.
Anyways, so I'd broken my arm in Karate, and was not enjoying the cast for so many reasons: always in the way, interfering with Karate practice, and love making collapsed to two positions: the cowgirl and reverse cowgirl. (Hey, these things matter when you're in your early 20's). And one other thing....
So I'm sleeping in my bed, and I hear someone running across our roof of our single story Souther California bungalow in the middle of the night. (This was definitely not a cat). And being I'm full of my 20-something hormones, I grabbed my gun, loaded it, and ran outside to see what the F was going on. Or at least that's how I imagined it was going to happen.
What actually happened, was I got up, grabbed my hand cannon, and realized I never keep 'One in the chamber' (even with a safety). But it has a spring that is stiff enough to be used in a small car, so there's no way I can work the action (slide) to put a bullet in the chamber... just in case there's a gang on my roof? I have no idea what I was thinking. I wanted to be ready for bear, and my broken arm wasn't going to hold the slide hard enough to rack the slide. While there's a lot of fancy ways to do that (with a boot, loop, etc), I didn't know them, and am not sure most would work on a Desert Eagle.
So I did the first thing that came to mind, a split second later. I got down on my knees, pinched it with my thighs (barrel away from me), and pushed forward, and pulled my legs apart -- thus loading a round in the chamber.
What actually happened is the monster slide came forward before I could get my legs apart, and grabbed two LARGE chunks of inner thigh in it's teeth and held on for dear life.
Two pliers grabbing inner thigh meat is not pleasant at all. More than that, they were holding on for all they were worth, some killer was on my roof, and I had a loaded gun between my left and no way to easily extricate myself. So I pulled my legs apart, got two nasty blood blisters (and cuts), so blood is running down my legs, and I sprint outside, looking for who was on my roof to start this -- with a gun in my hand that can shoot people through an engine block.
I don't know who had done that. I expect kids, that were hiding in the bushes, and probably scared shitless by the crazy guy in his BVD's, with blood running down his legs, a hand cannon, and the enraged look in his eyes that comes from a tool steel slide biting into me tender inner-thigh flesh. But whoever it was, they remained silent, I never found out who caused that. And they never ran across my roof again. And my thigh wounds slowly healed.