A trip to wonderland - Part 1

At 7 am I was ready. As requested by Abigail a few days before. I was standing in my alley, a light rolling suitcase in my left hand and my cane in the other.

At 7.05 am a van with a handicapped macaron parked in front of me.

The driver jumped out, happily greeted me and opened the lateral door. I climbed in without asking any question and was welcomed by Abi, who was sitting, wheelchair bound, at the back. She was not missing any leg... for the time being I guessed. She introduced me to Adam, our helper for the weekend and told me that he was a devotee friend of her who happily indulged in that kind of trip. This one trip she said was very special, as it was the final chapter of a bunch of trips at the same hotel. But before getting on the way, we would have to stop at Adam's shop. As it happened, Adam was the owner of a prosthetics shop. I was only mildly surprised.

At 7.25 I was stepping in was seemed to be the Ali Baba cavern for any pretender in the world, Adam told me to look around and to pick freely what was pleasing me while he was helping Abigail to get ready in the back room. As he rolled her out of my view, I started looking eagerly for what would fulfill my current fantasy. The steamy episode with Emma was still burning hot in my mind, even though over the last week, only professionally-themed e-mails arrived from her. Moreover, I've been slightly obsessed with a video on youtube featuring a very special kind of crutches, and I really wanted to try it out.


At 8.00 a stack of useful devices where bundled on top of a nice power chair that seemed to fit me perfectly and I was waiting for my two acolytes to come out of the room. The surprise almost made me fall on my comfortable butt when Abi showed up. She was... quite changed.

The least surprising were here legs. They were missing and two neatly bandaged stumps were popping out of a pale blue summer dress nicelly arranged under a strap keeping her diminished limbs down. What was more surprising was the use of a power chair, and the obviously pregnant belly, and the strap on top of it, bigger breasts too, enhanced by the strap  and rather heavy hard collar.
And a missing left arm, or at least well hidden in a fake hand prothesis that was resting motionless on the arm rest, strapped. She was driving the wheelchair with two fingers of an otherwise very limp right hand. As she moved toward me a bump on the floor made her right arm slip down slowly against her pregnant belly. I watched the hand slid slowly along the bump, it was utterly disturbing. Adam went to strap it too. I was speechless.

A pregnant triple amputee, quadriplegic. This was not something I was expecting from my hyperactive friend.

- I know it seems odd, said Abigail, but I'll explain later. It's your turn. Don't worry about me and go with Adam in the back room. I hope you can match me.

At 8h30 I came out of the room. Adam, after having a look at what I had chosen, went back in the store to pick better sized devices and helped me out with the heavy back brace that was blocking my neck. He also gave me a hand with the light carbon fiber KAFO braces that would adorn both my legs, and finally strapped my left arm in a heavy brace that wouldn't allow my to use arm crutches.

Learning how to use the gutter armrest crutches would come later, that would be the fun part of the trip. Adam arranged them at the back of my wheelchair and I sat in. Slowly. That was my first time in a power chair, I was not sure I would lack the lack of movement, but for now, my body was so heavily restrained that I couldn't wish for anything better. Struggle and pleasure time would be later.

At 8h45, Abi and I were securely installed at the back of the truck, and as Adam started the engine, Abigail asked me to unstrap her prosthetic hand and started slowly rubbing her pregnant belly while telling me the whole story.

I look and listened. Fascinated.

Heat wave

Work has been a quiet place lately. Summertime won over the usual office hubbub.

I've never been keen on taking long vacation in summer : overly packed beaches and crowded resorts are not my thing. I tend to take a week or so in october and fly to a state with warmer weather and then I take the rest of my days in winter in order to enjoy quiet time and hot chocolate on my sofa, or at a friend's home.

That said, my colleagues at the agency seem to be enjoying family holidays or flying to sunny California in order to have some fun on the beach. The only ones remaining are a few of my coworkers on my floor and Emma. The weather is warm and I've been wearing dresses everyday for a while now. Well above the knee sometimes because it's so hot and because my legs are void of any defect and I should enjoy it before cellulite strikes.

Emma remains in her tight conservative skirts with silky stockings, reasonable heels and a light white blouse. She choses her professional attire with great care and it fits her slender body to a tee.

Today was insanely warm, and at 7am, as I was strapping my ankle brace on my already moist ankle, I decided that even the brace was too much and that I should go light today, even though it would take me ages to walk from a point to another with a leg unable to support my weight. I only had to choose between the cam-walker and the crutches after all and it was about time for my colleagues to get used to me losing even more mobility.

I picked a light cream dress with floral patterns, a wide neck and a lace at the waist. I've been putting a bit on weight lately, but quite evenly and I really love my figures. I paused a moment in front of my mirror to pick a pair of sandals and decide between my cam-walker and my crutches. the crutches won. My profile with the line of my arm and crutch enhancing the curb of my breasts and the small soft round bulge of my belly was all I needed. I took a few steps around the house in order to get used to the new gait. With my ankle bending inside every other step, and my now weakened knee menacing to give up at any time I started a shaky walk to my car, feeling totally exhilarated. So much that the synchronized tapping of the crutches almost aroused me.
The road to work was spent anticipating every step and obstacles I would face at work and wondering if Emma was going to ask me out for lunch as she has been doing every monday since the beginning of july. Every time she arrived totally flushed at the small café on the first floor of our building.  I think looking a me walking is the biggest turn-on she ever had and I've been dressing light enough lately for her to see every single move of my body. I wondered if the even more feeble looking bare leg and the crutches were going to prompt her to do something. Anything.

A 10am, Emma still hadn't made an appearance at work, and none of my co-worker knew were she was. We needed her for a couple of cases and wondered if there was traffic congestion anywhere. But emma usually take the bus to work.

Around 11 the doors of the elevator opened and I heard Emma's voice. Finally ! I grabbed my crutches and went on my way to greet her.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I faced her in the corridor.
- "What happened ?" I blurted, unable to take off my eyes from her. My body became boiling hot and I had to grab my crutches even harder, both my legs were giving up on me.
- "The most stupid accident in the world, I fell on friday at the gym, I was rope jumping and I got mangled in the rope. I sprained both my ankles and my wrist. The hard collar and back brace are for safety, doctors think I'm fine but they don't want me to move too much. Hence the electrical wheelchair. I'm not supposed to be working, I'm just here to grab a few files and I'll be on my way home. If you could give me a..."
She stopped, finally noticing both my crutches. I stepped toward her. Her neck was in a collar linked to a small back brace that was keeping her very straight in her wheelchair, her bandaged right arm was neatly tucked in a sling against her chest and both her feet were stuck in dark air casts. She was however dressed as usual, save for the silky stockings. She looked so helpless, with her left hand laying on the command of the wheelchair. I wanted to grab the only working limb she had and... I was not sure of what I wanted to do next, but I did not have time to think of it. She was going to call someone else to help and I'd lose the chance to look at her moving around, stiff and weak in her bulky wheelchair.
- "Don't worry, I'll get my tripod cane. It should do the trick."
- "Good, a taxi is waiting for me in the parking."

She turned her wheelchair toward her office and I joined her there as quickly as I could.
The office door closed behind me and it was just the two of us. For a couple of minutes we got busy finding the files and I was stuffing them in the back pack at the back of the wheelchair. Every time I would bend to put a stack of paper in the back I would feel her perfume.
When she had everything she needed she turned toward the door.
- "I'll be on my way. Don't expect me at the office for a couple of weeks, but I'm available anytime via Skype, mail or on the phone. Please pass on the info. Just..."
- "Just ?"
- "Please, just don't tell the others how stupidly I got hurt... she sighed."

I promised and grabbed my tripod cane to go toward the closed door. As I passed her she gasped for air and her valid left hand grabbed my wrist. I released the tripod cane, my heart beating like it never had before and slid my hand in hers. Suddenly all I could think of was bent over her and touch whatever I could of her breasts under the back brace and the sling. But I didn't budge. She, however, did the most surprising thing ever. Releasing her injured arm from the sling with a slight wince, she touched my breast with her fingers, not moving them, leaving them in a curled position. I bent over so she could touch it better and before I knew it my lips were heading toward her still head. I released her valid hand to grab and arm rest of her chair for fear of losing my balance and we kissed passionately as she was fondling my breast with her bandaged hand. It lasted a heavenly minute, during which I discovered the tenderness of lips while her numb fingers were clumsily stroking my hardened nipples. I moaned while my free hand was stroking her breast, following the designs of the back brace.

- "Enough, she moaned. That's... "
I stepped back, breathless and we looked at each other.
- "That's not what I intended, I'm so sorry. You're so..."
- "So are you... "I said softly, and I opened the door. There was no point going further while at the office. "Get well and come back soon."
She rolled a few centimeters and stopped.
- "I'm... not sure."
- "About coming back."
- "About wanting to get better. I know it's rude to say that to someone sick, but I envy you and I... really fancy you."
She dashed out without letting me time to say anything.

I watched her disappear in the corner, and slowly went back to my office, bent on my tripod cane and still having gasps of pleasure at the thought of her soft breasts under the hard brace, and of her weakened hand fumbling in my bras.

I'd never kissed a girl before. It was all very disturbing.

Your Friendly Neighbourhood Watch

I had my first encounter with Abigail on my very first evening in my new house. She walked, or should I say hopped towards me with a bright smile and a blatantly missing leg.
I must admit that it took me a few seconds before shaking the hand she offered me and greeting her properly. The sight of that petite disheveled brunette in a purple puffy dress, perched on two ancient-looking underarm crutches took me by surprise.

"I'm sorry, that's my evening attire" she said, noting that I was looking at her up and down and up again. Her left stump and right leg were encased in a thick lavender stocking with darker floral designs and her unique shoe was a purple heel matching the dress. It had me wondering how she would dress during the day. "Conservative attire" might not have been part of this lady's wardrobe or vocabulary. Nevertheless, I introduced myself and offered a tea. With the fridge still empty and the kettle being one of the only appliances I had unpacked and plugged, that's the best I could do.

"Please, come to my place, I've fixed too much for dinner and I'm pretty sure you're starving after the day you've had. I mean, if you don't have any other plan". I hadn't. And let's admit it I was mesmerized. I tagged along and it took her a few steps to realize that she was crutching too quickly for me. She slowed down back to my level and we entered her house.

The layout was pretty much the same as my house, a wide hall leading to a spacious living room and adapted kitchenette, with a handicapped bathroom on the left and two bedroom en-suite on the right. A door at the back of the kitchenette was opening on a tiny garden. Nothing fancy except the colors. Abigail clearly loved flashy tones. Even the three prosthetic legs neatly aligned against the wall of her living room were sporting colorful patterns. I sat on a frilly sofa while she sat on a sport wheelchair and went about in the kitchen, carrying things a tray she had placed on her thighs.

Soon she had arranged a fair amount of pretty sandwiches and snacks in front of me and joined me on the sofa. I had remained silent and wondering the whole time. My eyes jumping from there stump that was popping out of the layers of jupons, the prosthetic legs whose opening seemed so wide for such a petite woman and...

"I guess it takes one to spot another one." She smiled.
"I beg your pardon ?"
"You're a pretender. It only took me ten seconds and three of your steps to know it. You seem to enjoy it soooo much !"
"I don't..."
"Of course you do !  You're faking a disability. I'm so good a spotting the likes of me, you can't fool me. And you're not so good at it, I must say."

I said nothing. My fresh new world was already falling appart. I had been made. This is something I had not thought about. Not enough. I felt my cheeks burning and grabbed my cane to walk out. And that last gesture, grabbing my cane, even though I didn't REALLY need it got me thinking. I NEEDED it, really. Whatever happened, I could not fathom getting up without its help, I could not think of putting weight on my left leg without my ankle giving up. I was this way. And so was she.

She'd been looking at me during my short internal battle, smiling.

"Did I hurt your feelings ?"
"Not really, even though, I don't think I am bad at being just who I am. Even though you're really good at being you"

"I've been an amputee for almost a decade now. It'd be a shame to be bad at it. You're not good because you seem to enjoy it too much, you smile almost every time your foot drags a little too much and you have to bend your hip to have it go further front. I have nothing to say on your gait, you walk well with a walking stick."

As a first "casual" conversation, that was rather disturbing, but she handled it with such naturel that I finally grabbed a bite of a cucumber and salmon sandwich and spat out all my story. It felt good to talk to someone who wouldn't be judgmental. She understood, and told me how, upon discovering that she'd never be happy with two legs she had changed her name, jumped state lines and started a new life here as a house decorator. (That last bit let me wondering, but hey... who am I to judge, she seems to be living pretty well).

It was well into the night when I felt that sleep was getting the better of me. We were running out of snacks and the conversation had switched to a number of more mundane topics. Abigail was now officially my best friend forever in the world of pretending. My unique one as a matter of fact. Before leaving I wondered.

"Do you ever walk with two legs ?"

Abigail smirked. "As a matter of fact, yes, I do. I could never resort to the extreme and have my leg removed and there is no point in ruining it. I run a couple miles every morning on my treadmill and I often have holidays at the beach in Europe. And sometimes, I go on very special trips with some friends... And then, everything is possible. But it's late. Maybe we can keep the funny stories for you next cup of tea at your place?"

"That's a date !"

(Un)wanted attention

It's been almost two months now and I am truly enjoying my new life. My "condition" hasn't evolved much so far, and I am becoming really good with my walking stick. I actually bought a couple more in order to match them with my clothes.

The only major change in my routine is the tripod-based cane that I leave in my office, not that my balance gets worse at work but it is a lot easier to use when you need to grab files and papers here and there multiple times a day. Rather than dropping an unstable walking stick 5 or 6 time a day, a steady and always vertical device is a pleasure.

I hesitated between a tripod cane and a crutch that you can attach to your forearm, and somehow went for the tripod cane because I love the way I feel when I roll my office chair to the right, grab my leg under the knee to adjust its position and grab the sturdy handle before slowly rising to a standing position. It wouldn't happen the same way with a forearm crutch.

I intend on having my condition worsening within the next few weeks. However, I'll keep using only one cane until it is unbearable. I want to look weak and unsteady, minding each step and fearing the wind or a uneven patch of grass. I want to push it to the max and enjoy the relief when I'll switch to a more secure kind of walking help.

So far my cane and an ankle brace are all I need to feel satisfied, and somehow I'm not the only one enjoying it. The tripod cane seems to be a real turn on for Emma, my boss.

It took me a while to work it out, and I'm not sure if she, herself, understands it clearly but she's a devotee. Ever since I brought the tripod cane to the office she's been coming more and more at my desk, requesting various thins requiring me to get up, get to the file cabinet and rummage around. Every time I place my weak foot correctly, grab the handle and slowly rise I can hear that she stops breathing. Once, I swear I heard her moan in my back as I was clutching my cane to bend over a drawer. That's when I knew.

I don't mind the attention at all. I'm not into girls, although, if I was, Emma would not be someone I'd disregard as a potential partner. But, mind you,  if I feel exhilarated by the use of assistive devices, I don't know why I should feel bad about someone else enjoying it too!

However, something's bugging me. I'm a pretender. I wonder if Emma would still find me so attractive if she knew. I've been wondering whether I should try and come out as a pretender, but considering she is my boss and did me a couple of favours when I decided to move to my adapted home, it doesn't feel right. On the other hand, having her aware of my real state and maybe open to the idea, would open a wide array of possibilities for the future. I can't say I haven't been thinking about this charming redhead in a few interesting situations lately.

Anyway, I'm still in two minds about it and I've decided I'd give it a rest for now. Maybe I'll discuss it with Abigail, my neighbor. Something tells me she'll have rather interesting insights about this situation.

Guilty Pleasures

I'm a highly organized individual and within the week-end the essential items had their place in my home.

All that was left was a dozen boxes of unessential items. These were to get a special treatment. Every night as I was coming back from work, I would fix a quick meal and do what I would call a "fast forward".

As I was lying down for the first night of my life with a painfully sprained ankle, what now seems aeons ago, my mind was racing. I was already feeling then that something had to change. My way to walk, to move, to live, was to be bended forever.

For a while I fancied myself totally unable to move, with numb and lifeless limbs that could only be lifted by someone else. Paralyzed with only my neck barely able to move around. Slightly on to the left, slightly on to the right. I imagined my plump yet firm body, softening gently in a wheelchair. One of those big bulky wheelchairs that move with a sip-and-puff system and loaded with a number of strap-on bands to hold you straight in. It seemed pleasant somehow, but something was amiss in that vision of my future self.

Movement was missing.

From the beginning, movement was paramount to my happiness. I needed those slow-motionned and almost painfully clumsy gestures. I wanted to feel my limbs reluctantly do what my brain was telling them to. I wanted weakness and resistance. The odd medley of a disobedient body.

Lying in my bed, the pain pulsing in my ankle, I proceeded backward : extracting my imaginary self from the sip-and-puff wheelchair, giving back my fingers some latitude, I surrendered to a hand-controlled power chair and a heavy set of braces that would help my back straight and strengthen my arms. The vision was rather pleasing, although, if felt too easy. The wheelchair was tempting, but I needed to be the kind of person who won't sit if something else is possible. And that's how I knew that someday a fully-braced future me would be roaming around in the street, bent on a walker and fighting for each step on her weakened legs. Pausing for breath every few feet. And sometimes wiping her forehead, or adjusting her neck brace with a curled left hand. That was me. That was the real me.

But I needed to be sure, because there was no going back. I knew that from the start.

For now, it is safe. I have a walking stick and a slight limp. If I were to change my mind I could just pretext that the disease has stabilized and that physical therapy has done the trick.
So, to be sure I'm playing "fast forward" every night.

Tonight for example is the last box : I took my crutches out and my knees are slowly failing me. My ankles are long gone and my feet only stay in line with my legs thanks to these braces. My left hand is also letting me down, I can't fully open it by myself, I need to spread the fingers with my other hand.

I have emptied a box of empty flower pots, vases and other ornaments onto the table and I pick them slowly one by one. I secure them with my right hand, inside the curled fingers of my left, then grab a crutch with my strong arm and slowly stroll around the house trying to find the best spot for whatever I'm holding.

The process is slow and I am savoring each step, each movement of the crutch. My left foot really doesn't feel like moving anymore and I am basically dragging it on the floor, gaining my balance back  on it with a move of the hip.

I love it. I've been doing this part for two nights in a row. I think that's how I'll be in a year and I might stay this way quite a few months.

Tomorrow, I'll get a cam-walker delivered. Filling in the empty pots with flowers will be delightful.

A new beginning

I guess it all really started with that sprained ankle three months ago. I'd never had to use crutches before, but somehow, at the very moment  the nurse in the ER handed them to me I felt that I would have a hard time giving up on them a few weeks later.

Leaning on them made me feel... different, but so at ease with my body for once in my life.

She quickly showed me how to move around without putting down my left foot, and explained what my physical therapist would teach me again later, about putting only half the weight on the weak leg later on, or using only one crutch.

One month later I was still walking with a cane in my right hand and only using my left foot with great care. I was perfectly healed. But somehow I had never felt so happy in my life. The main problem, really, was being at ease with the fact that looking and feeling disabled was a state in which I was feeling exhilarated while most of the people around me would almost pity me.

There was something magical in the noise of the rubber tip of the walking stick tapping on the floor, followed by my left foot gently shuffling forward. Tap... shhhhh... tap. Shhhhh...

One month forward, my boss took me in her office and asked me about my recent mobility issues and if I needed anything to help me at work, like an adapted chair or anything.

She seemed a bit fidgety, not really daring to ask what was happening to me. And that was all for the better because I had no idea. I had not thought about it, it just felt so nice that my first routine in the morning was to gently grab my left leg and help it down on the floor like it was a soft but fragile little animal and then grab my slick black walking stick to help myself up.

Finally the question came up, breaking a rather embarrassed silence. It was oddly worded :

"Jodie, is it going to get worse ?" There was a longing in my boss' voice that I had never heard before. That's when everything about her fell into place in my head. I wasn't the only one who had enjoyed the wonky noises of my footsteps on the office's hall marbled floors. She'd always been nice to me, but ever since my left leg seemed to be desperately trying to catch up with the rest of my body, she had paid a lot more attention to me. Not professionally, but rather to the way I was doing my hair in the morning or my shade of lipstick, or... or how my dress was complimenting my (slightly plump) figure.

"Emma, I don't really know. The pain worn off since my fall, but the weakness lingers, and the doctors are a bit at loss. So far, so good and we can only expect for the best isn't it ?"

"Sure" she said, and I wondered what "The best" meant for her. And for me.

She said that if I was needing any adjustment to my workplace, or in my work schedule to attend physical therapy, I was more than welcome to request it. And that's when my decision was taken.

One week later, I requested an appointment as soon as possible with her, and she was more than happy to receive me between two meetings. She welcomed me at the elevator and quickly noticed, at my gait, that under my white trousers a light brace was holding my ankle in a straight and stiff position.

I had been a tightwad on the make-up department in the morning, to make sure that I would seem a bit out-of-it, and I sat down silently in the chair facing her desk.

I weighted my word, it needn't sounding too dramatic.

"Emma, I'm sorry to bother you with that but the doctors came back with... the beginning of an answer and apparently, it's not going to get better."

She said nothing. I was clutching my walking stick and her eyes were fixated on my fingers. So I kept going.

"They're not sure yet, but they said things like like neuro-degenerative disease, and orphan disease. Something like a late version of a Charcot Tooth Marie..."
"Charcot-Marie-Tooth." She briskly corrected.
"Yes, that's the one, I'm not too familiar with the term." I locked eyes with her, she, on the other hand clearly was. There was another silence.
"How can I... can we help you ?"
"Well, I don't want to sound too pessimistic, but over the last few days, the stairs at my house have been more and more of a bother. I've been willing to move out for a while now, so it might just be the perfect time to chose a place that will... prove easier to live in... in the future. I've been contacting a few real estates companies and I have a few flats and houses to visit. I was wondering if it wouldn't bother you too much if I was taking a couple of days this week, in order to speed up the process. I know I'm supposed to apply two weeks in advance for a day off, but it would really help. "
"Please, it's not like you're requesting the day off because of a hangover. I'll sort it out with the HR department. Will  thursday and friday be ok with you ? "
"That'd be just perfect !"
"Ok, please keep me in the loop! I'm sorry I have another meeting coming up... Let me..."

And she went to hold her office door for me...

As I stepped out, her hand touched mine, so slightly I actually doubted it had really happened. The hand that was holding the walking stick of course. It left me wondering, and maybe my cheeks went red. And maybe as I walked down the hall to the elevator, I let my left leg lag even more, and walked even more slowly, as I felt her stare drilling through my back. And maybe I felt slightly... oh, even so slightly aroused.

And yesterday was the day. I spent the afternoon leaning on my cane in the alley of my brand new, ground-floor and fully adapted suburban house. The sun was shining and I was wearing a light blue dress. I had not bothered doing my hair and the wind in my blond locks felt nice. I did not feel like running around, I just felt like putting my weight on my walking stick and let my hips move slowly, one uneasy step at a time. At some point, one of the mover extracted my crutches from the moving truck and asked me where I wanted them. I told him to stick them in the bedroom closet. Ready at hand.

While saying that, it felt nice to think that soon, everything, indeed, would be for the better.

When the truck finally vacated my alley, leaving me with about 40 unpacked boxes neatly arranged in my living room, I walked around the house, bare-footed, enjoying the feel of the brand new floor and letting the toes of my left foot drag around a bit. Then I went to my front porch, because the night was falling and I wanted to enjoy the dusk.

Tap. tap. tap. tap. tap. tap.

"Hi !"  she said. "I saw the truck on my way back to work. I just wanted to say Hi ! And Welcome ! I'm Abigail, your next door neighbor. "

She freed a hand from her underarm crutches and I think I fell in love.