A Trip to Wonderland - Part 3

The afternoon was spent in a general state of bliss.

First we made our way to the swimming pool at the back of the hotel. Adam settled Abigail under an umbrella with a fresh drink (with a straw of course) and went for a swim. I slowly and carefully sat down on a transat. It was awkward because I couldn't use my left arm and my back couldn't bend at all, but I finally managed without ending up on the floor.
It was odd, basking in the sun, feeling all my limbs stiffened by the carbon and metal of the braces.

- So, what about that nice waiter ?  Are you planning on inviting him in your room tonight ?
- To be honest, I had never thought about having sex when I came here. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep my story straight. What if I... move too much ?
Abigail laughed slowly.
- Believe me, once you get in the mood, you just behave accordingly. 
- Are you going to have sex with Adam tonight ?
- Certainly. In very slow motion.

I tried not to picture it. The fake pregnant belly was disturbing me. She saw my pout.

- I don't like it much either you know, I'd rather think I've put up on weight because I was so active before the accident. Even though it was easier when I was only 5 months pregnant. But that's Adam's thing. I wonder what turns Trevor on. The way your cleavage is enhanced by the back brace ?
- If I ever find out, I'll let you know. Maybe he just want to play a prank on me and have a laugh later at how he stood up a crippled thirty-something fat chick ? 
- You have no faith in humanity, darling.
I sighted. I was getting mixed feeling about this adventure now. Connor was cute, he was tall, had a slender body and seemed strong and powerful, he had that general relaxed yet classy appareance and sweet bubbly brown eyes. He had a deep voiceand didn't seem stupid, but to be sure I would have to...
Oh the hell with it, I had the afternoon left to think of a smart way to reply to his invitation.

**

When Adam was done with the swimming pool he changed up and we dropped by the bedroom, I got back into the wheelchair and got rid of my leg braces. We were going to the village down the road. It was my first real trip out in a state that would soon be permanent and for a while Connor and Emma were obliterated from my thoughts. It was all about me.

Of course, Abigail attracted most of the attention, her alanguished body, her enormous belly with those two wrapped stumps popping out under it. Adam dotting on her was sight too, and certainly made some female passers-by jealous. I was tagging along, generaly enjoying every bump in the road and the littlest struggles. Once again I couldn't help notice how I was really losing control over my left leg, particularly the ankle. My foot was regularly turning at an odd angle and each time I had to manually put it back correctly. The third time I gave up, I simply thightened the strap over my thighs so my leg wouldn't slip more.
I made a mental not to try something I hadn't tried in month. Walk without any assistive device. I might be in for a surprise.

Before long it was time to go back to the hotel, Abigail was getting rather tired and the back of her wheelchair was filled with shopping bags full of farm grown delicacies and natural products.

It was decided that we would have dinner in our own rooms. Adam and Abigail certainly wanted some intimacy, and I needed to decide what to do with my potential date.

I started with the minibar. (those small bottles are hell to open with one valid hand only) and finally got to my phone.

"I'll put up a do not disturb sign on my door at 9pm. Room 653. Feel free to ignore it. Jodie"

I the ordered an assortment of club sandwiches for my dinner and took off my arm brace, my clothes and my back brace. I rolled to the bathroom and transfered in the shower... It felt like heaven. The back brace had been more straining than I had thought.

**

At 9,  I was sitting back in my wheelchair with only my back brace and a lacy night dress. My bare feet were resting on the foot pads, limp and useless, my left ankle bent in a rather awkard way. My left arm was simply in a sling and a single strap under my breasts was keeping me safe in my chair.

At 9.05 a slight knock took me out of my semi-dreamy, semi-anxious state, I slowly rolled to the door and cracked it opened.

Connor had changed from his waiter attire to a pair of worn out jeans and a rather slim fit t-shirt showing a slim yet muscular upper body. He had a single rose in his hand and a devastating smile.

I was lost for words, but he made up for it.

"You're..."

Well, he tried...

"So are you. " I answered, taking the rose with my valid hand and putting it on my laps. I rolled slowly back near the bed. He closed the door and followed me. There was no need for words after all. He took the rose and nonchalantely dropped it on the bedside table and, kneeling on front of me, his hands traveled back on my legs. He stroke them, the knees, then the calves and he finally took my left foot. I shivered.

- Can you feel ?
- Very well.
- Good, I wouldn't want you to get bored, he smiled and he started kissing my left ankle.

I was breathless when he lifted my dress up and when his hands and lips started going up. I was still strapped to my wheelchair and I couldn't even bend my head to look at him. My valid hand looked for his dark wavy hair and I caressed them. His lips travelled to my thighs and he started slowly parting my legs. And brutally, he stopped and stood up, quite red in the face.

- I'm sorry, I didn't even ask you if you wanted to go in bed. I can help you in.
- You actually did not even ask me if I wanted to...
- I'm sorry.
- ... Kiss your lips first... I finished with a smile. Don't worry, We both want the same thing.
He smile and bent down to me, I felt his warm lips against mine and his fingers traveled on my breasts, traveling under the sling. He released the strap holding me to my chair.
- Can you stand alone, he murmured or shall I lift you to the bed ?
- Simply help me transfer, I breathed, surprised myself at the erotic dimension of having a helper for such a simple action.

I placed the wheelchair the best I could and he moved my legs on the bed. He bent down and I put my valid arm around his neck. In a swift move I was on the bed, sitting against the pillow, and his lips again where all over me.
I managed a few seconds to get rid of my sling and the way my hand was curled seemed to excite him a lot. I started stroking his chest with it, sliding it under the T-shirt. He took it off with a moan.
Managing a buttoned jean with only one hand was hard, but I managed and seing how he was getting excited, I started stroking slowly his fully blown dick with my left hand. As awkwardly as I could.
The back brace in this case was both a bother and a real turn on. I was stuck in a very stiff position, unable to see exactly was I was doing and with very little movement. Totally dependant on Connor's actions. I was on top of me, naked now, and enjoying my hand job while his own  hands where unlacing my cleavage and travelling along the front of my brace. He had expert fingers.
Soon he slowly parted from me to put a condom on and came back. He asked me if I was confortable and parted my legs.

The sensation of him going inside me drove me insane, for a second I felt like moving along with him, but the back brace prevented me from doing it, so I layed there, eyed closed, carressing him when I could. Everytime my left hand would touch him I could hear him breath louder, faster. I'm not sure how long it lasted but I came twice.  In a way I had never came before.
And finally he came too, and laid for a while at my side. I couln't turn my head but I could feel his stare. And he kissed my cheek and got up to the bathroom.

And off he goes I thought bitterly.

But I was wrong.

He came back and asked me if I wanted to freshen up a bit.
- Before the second round, he smiled.
I agreed and asked for my crutches.
- Don't you need your braces ?
- I can deal with few steps without them.
He helped me secure the straps on my forearms and help me up. It was a lot harder than I had tought. My left ankle was really gone and I finally ended up dragging my foot behind.
I felt his stare all the way to the bathroom, it was pleasant. And on the way back, I could see him getting harder at each of my clumsy steps.

He barely let me time to unstrap my crutches.

**

I woke up to an empty bed. I was lying on my back, legs slightly propped up on a pillow, my arm secured again in the sling, exactly the way Connor had put me before lying next to me. We'd fallen asleep after hours of sex and some small talk.

After a little effort I managed to turn on my side and found Connor. He was only wearing his jeans and was sitting in my wheelchair, deep in his thoughts.
Actually he was not only sitting. He was using the wheelchair, like a paraplegic. He looked like he had no control over his lower body,  slightly slouching, his toes pointed inward.
I could easily picture him in a manual wheechair. Sex would be even more different if he was also a paraplegic. I found the idea worth toying with.

- Oh you're awake. He said. I ordered breakfast in 20 minutes. I hope you don't mind ? 
- Not if you help me out. Breakfast in bed with only one arm is not he easiest thing.
- Oh sure. He smiled.
- Can you fetch my crutches ? I smiled, Apparently, you need my wheelchair more than me.

Connor looked pensive again.
- I know your girlfriend is faking her condition.  It's quite obvious when you look closely. What about you ? I'm on the fence. If you do, you're good.

I took the info in. He had known. Like Abigaïl. Or was it that all pretenders could somehow sniff each other out ? Because obviously, Connor had his own BIID issues.

- Well, I fake so well that it's becoming real. If we meet again in a few months, I may not be able to stand alone unassisted.

- I hope we'll meet again before that. He sighed. I felt aroused again looking at him, all limp in the chair. Quite unexpected.  If disabled women were somehow a turn on, I'd never given a second tought about a guy in a wheelchair.

He left the chair when room service rang, we had breakfast and he left at nine. Not without the promise of keeping in touch.

What a night.

I joined Abigail and  in the lobby  at 10. We went for a last stroll in the hotel park. Adam seemed elated. Abigail tired. I was deep in my thoughts, happy to be in the wheelchair, because at the moment, I'd rather be reminiscing about my night than concentrating on each small step.

The trip back home was quiet. We stopped by Adam's store to get back to our normal disabilities, and when he dropped me in front of my accessible house, with my tripod cane and my small suitcase, I knew for sure what I wanted.

There was no place for doubt anymore, my future was made of braces, wheelchairs and wonderful sex.

A Trip to Wonderland - Part 2

As we were driving to our destination, Adam in the front of the car, humming happily out of tune with some cheesy song playing on the radio, Abigail explained me that the state I was witnessing her in was not her fantasy. It was Adam's. They had a deal and would oblige each other fantasy alternatively.

The last 8 months had been spent setting up quite a complicated scenario in a particular hotel. They had come the first time as a couple celebrating the recovery of the wife after a terrible accident. She had lost both her legs, one arm and broken her back ,leaving her a quadriplegic.
The first time she came with Adam, she was still wearing a halo and a heavy back brace.

The second time, three months later she was free from the halo brace but was still wearing a back brace. And they were happy to announce that they were pregnant to the staff of the hotel, who remembered them from the previous time and was quite caring.

The third time, at the fifth month of her fake pregnancy had been marvellous, free from her back brace and showing a small belly, and now able to direct her wheelchair on her own. They had been sightseeing around and Adam seemed the happiest man on earth.

This time was the last, with a heavily 8-months pregnant Abigail, resting in her big wheelchair like a precious and fragile vessel. She was to look tired but blooming and happy. And happy she was indeed. While she was not too fond of being constantly wheelchair bound, she confessed that her physical appearance in that state was a real pleasure. The effect of the various straps and braces, enhancing her curves was striking. Her generally limp appearance contrasting with the rigid line of the wheelchair, it pleased her. Also, she loved having Adam move her limbs for her, and generally care for her wellbeing. The fake prothesis was a real gift for her too, it was numbing the feelings in her hand, and she really loved using it to touch things, and her own body, the feeling (or rather the lack of it), she said, was exhilarating.

At that point I was quite envious actually. I also wondered how realistic her fake pregnant belly was.
She promised me she'll show it to me as it was quite a work of art, imitating the feel of real skin and even matching her skin tone. In the meantime she offered me to touch it. Once again, the lack of feeling for her, as well as on her fake breasts was a real turn-on. I was on her left, so my only free limbs my right arm was able to reach her, even though at an awkward angle since I couldn't turn my upper body, stuck in a brace and secured by a strap on my wheelchair. So, looking in front of me, blindly I fumbled until I found her belly, it was round and soft, but not so soft that it felt like she had simply stuffed a pillow under her dress. Realistically soft. She sighed, and I could not help to try and feel her breasts, reminiscing about my steamy encounter with Emma.

- Hey, Jodie, Abigail's my wife!  Hands off! laughed Adam in the front. Apparently he'd been keeping an eye on his precious load through the rearview mirror.

- I'm sure you'll find someone to play with at the hotel, he added.
I doubted that. Who'd want to chat up a girl so encaged in braces that she couln't even tie her own shoes ?
My valid hand landed back on my laps and, Abigail changed the turn of the conversation.
- Did you think of a backstory ? The staff over there is quiet but curious, you may have to make small talk.
- Not much actually, I thought I'd just talk about a bad fall because of my current condition. An unsteady gait and a fall in the stairs at work. And I'm on my way to a full recovery, except for my left leg of course. The weak one.
- That's simple and perfectly believable agreed Abigail. I can't wait to see you with the gutter arm-rest crutches.

I smiled. I couldn't wait either.

A couple of hours later, we stopped in front of a large white hotel, lost in the green scenery of the neighbouring state. The chance to meet someone we knew here was slim I thought as I drove my way out of the car to enter the spacious lobby. The clerk at the entrance greeted us, congratulated Abigail on her impressive bump and we were quickly channeled to our rooms.
Manoeuvering the electric wheelchair was a surprisingly pleasant experience, my chin was kept up, because of the brace, my legs encased in the KAFO braces were somethimes shaking, but would remain stiff, and my left arm was secured in a sling. I only felt alive and able in my right arm and the power chair was slowly becoming a part of me. Once in my room, the groom settled my luggage as I directed him, and I went to grab my purse to tip him. I almost got aroused when securing my wallet against my limp left hand to scoure for a couple of bills. Not able to bend my head was making it even more difficult. It felt utterly right.

The groom left and I was left to my own devices. We had been driving for a few hours and it had been decided that we would reunite in the lobby and head to the hotel restaurant at 1pm. I had 30 minutes left to freshen up.
I rolled toward the bathroom, and started to wonder how I would manage the toilets. After all I wasn't supposed to be paralysed, simply weakened. So a proper transfer was not in order, I would stand. Weakly.
I grabed my legs, one by one and carefully with my valid hand and settled them on the ground before grabbing a nearby handle in the well-equiped bathroom to help myself up. Luckily, there was still some strength in my right leg. Recently, I've noticed how really weakened my left leg is becoming, and I felt it again. Had the hinges of the KAFO brace not locked I would have fallen down.
The two steps to the toilets were slow, unsteady and fantastic. The wheelchair had been nice alright, but I felt it was time to give a try to the gutter-armrest crutches. Freshening up took me 10 minutes instead of 2.  And it took me ten minutes more to arrange the crutches. But it was worth the hassle. As I rested heavily on them, dragging my stiffened legs one after another, looking straight ahead of me, I felt good. Each slow, almost painful step felt like a victory. Each harder hip movement to put my left leg in front of the other, each missed attempt to stabilize my left foot and lean a bit on it was a delight, and I could feel how the KAFO brace was indeed getting really useful for my left leg.

This fantasy was becoming very real, and I loved every bit of it.

Getting to the elevator in the long straight corridor was great, a couple passed me, I smiled at them, they smiled back and greeted me. I did not feel like an impostor, I was myself, that the exact way I wanted to be. It almost got me too emotionnal to walk, but by the time I reached the lobby, I was simply feeling good.

Adam and Abigail were waiting for me. Adam was lovingly stroking Abigail's belly. He had redone her hair and she was looking striking.

They both congratulated me on my gait, rather surprised to see that I was already mastering so well the crutches and we made our slow way to the restaurant.

The meal was delicious, and our waiter was the most gentle person ever. He even offered to cut my meat when he saw me struggling with my weakened and stiffened left arm. After all, he said, my girlfriend had a gentleman who was feeding her, it was unfair to leave me unattended.

I politely declined, even though it would have been tempting to be cared for by such a hot young man,  and he almost seemed hurt. Adam winked at me.
- He's got a thing for you, you should ask for his number!
- Right. Sure, I'll do that, I mumbled.

I've never been so lucky with guys, they always seem nice at the beginning, and then the hidden flaws were showing up. There was no point hurting myself by trying to hook up for a one night stand with a healthy young man, while encased in fiber and metal contraptions that would guarantee at least as much action for him as shagging a wooden plank. He was certainly nice just for the tips.

I had to reconsider at the end of the meal, when he came to help me stand up. There was something in his touch. And something more in the piece of paper he slipped in my valid hand.
"My shift ends at 8pm, call me, I'll come. Connor. " and his number.

That was unexpected.

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.