Quench

Quench
 

The silicone of the relaxation mask cupped Lorna’s eye sockets with a gentle, unyielding suction. Total darkness. She’d worn it dozens of times before—meditation, afternoon naps, zoning out while her mother pottered in the kitchen—but always with the knowledge that a voice, a touch, a pair of hands could pull her back into the light whenever she asked.

Now there was only the sound of her own breathing. The distant caw of a crow somewhere past the hedgerow. And a thirst that had gone from a minor distraction to something with teeth.

“Tommy? Leo? ”

Her voice came out thin, swallowed by the garden’s expanse. The boys were long gone. She could picture them—twelve and fourteen, all elbows and knees, already halfway to the park with a football under Leo’s arm, the promise of watching their older sister evaporating the moment Mom’s car cleared the driveway.

Thirsty. So thirsty.

Lorna pushed herself upright in the beach chair. The canvas sling creaked under her. Her shoulders—where arms should have been, where now only smooth, healed skin curved over the joint—rotated forward in an automatic gesture that still, after six months, surprised her with its futility. Her brain kept sending signals down pathways that dead-ended in air.

She tried for the mask with her right foot first. The movement was familiar by now, toe-hunting for the buckle she knew sat at the back of her skull. Her hamstring pulled tight as she lifted her leg, her hip flexors complaining. She’d worked on this in physio. Supposedly.

Her toes brushed the mask’s edge. Slipped off. She tried to hook the strap, to drag it sideways, but the elastic just snapped back against her hair. A frustrated sound escaped her throat—half moan, half growl.

Left foot, then. Same result. Her heel caught behind her ear and she overbalanced, lurching sideways in the chair before her core muscles tightened and hauled her upright.

Breathe, Lorna. Breathe.

She’d never been particularly flexible. Before the accident—before the storm, before the white-hot flash that erased her arms from existence—she’d been a runner. Long, lean muscle built for forward motion on the track, not for contortion. Her legs were beautiful, everyone said so. She still had those. But right now they were as useless as her shoulders for this one specific, maddening task.

The chair post. Maybe she could snag the strap on the corner of the aluminum frame.

She twisted, pressing the side of her head against the tubing. The metal was warm from two hours of afternoon sun. She rubbed her skull back and forth like a cat marking territory, trying to catch the strap. Once, twice. The mask shifted a millimetre. Then snapped back.

Her throat felt like sandpaper.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. Think.”

The house. She knew this garden. She’d grown up in it. Scraped knees on the flagstones, sunburns on the patch of lawn where she’d sprawled with magazines as a teenager. The back door was thirty yards from this chair—twenty-five, maybe, if she aimed correctly. She could navigate it blind.

Couldn’t she?

Thirst made the decision for her. That, and the slow-burning humiliation of sitting here like a useless thing, a statue, a cautionary tale. She’d had enough of being looked at. Enough of the way strangers’ eyes slid off her shoulders and then darted away, the pity so thick she could taste it.

She stood. Carefully, so carefully. Without arms to counterbalance, the simple act of rising from a low chair became a negotiation with gravity. Her thigh muscles quivered. Her bare feet found the grass, then the edge of her pumps—white leather, kitten heel, ridiculous choice for a garden but she’d wanted to feel pretty—and she stepped into them, wedging her toes into the vamps.

One foot. Then the other.

Direction. Which direction?

She oriented herself against the chair. The sun was on her left cheek, which meant the house was… forward? Yes. Forward, slightly left. The patio led to the French doors, which led to the kitchen, which held the refrigerator with its cold, sweating pitcher of filtered water.

She started walking.

The first ten steps felt almost triumphant. Her heels clicked on concrete—the patio, definitely the patio—and she kept her pace measured, swinging each foot forward in a careful arc, testing the ground before committing weight. Her shoulders pulled back instinctively, still trying to help with balance, the muscles along her spine engaging in a dance they hadn’t yet learned.

Click. Click. Click.

Concrete gave way to something softer. Grass. That was wrong. The patio should continue all the way to the French doors, unless she’d veered. Unless her internal compass, thrown off by blindness and missing limbs, had curved her path.

Damn.

She stopped. Listened. Nothing but wind through the silver birch at the garden’s edge. No distant car, no lawnmower, no childish laughter—absolutely alone, in a pocket of rural silence that had once felt peaceful and now felt like a vacuum.

The grass beneath her feet felt different. Longer. Coarser. The manicured lawn near the house gave way to rougher ground down here, where Mom let the wildflowers grow and the river cut through the property’s bottom edge.

The river.

Lorna’s breath caught. She’d wandered much further than she thought. This wasn’t a slight miscalculation; this was a journey. She must have walked for minutes, not seconds, her blind brain stretching time like taffy.

You’re at the bottom of the garden, you idiot.

The realization hit her like a second lightning strike—slower than the first, but carrying its own charge of terror. Roots twisted through this grass. Low-hanging branches from the old oak waited at face-height. And the river, that lazy, unremarkable stream she’d paddled in as a girl, now seemed like a malevolent presence, waiting to swallow an armless woman who couldn’t swim her way out of a puddle.

Tears pushed against the mask’s foam seal. They couldn’t escape; they pooled in the hollows and made the silicone slick against her cheeks. She felt the salt sting the corners of her eyes, trapped.

“Please,” she said, to no one. To the garden. To the sky she couldn’t see. “Please, someone.”

Nothing answered.

She sank to her knees in the grass—a controlled descent, at least, bending one leg then the other until her shins pressed into the cool earth. The moisture seeped through the thin cotton of her sundress. She’d chosen it this morning because it buttoned up the front, something she could manage with her toes, and because the yellow fabric made her feel less like a medical exhibit and more like a girl on a summer afternoon.

Now it was just another thing she couldn’t protect from the dirt.

Her shoulders hunched forward. The mask—this ridiculous, spa-day accessory that had seemed like such a luxury two hours ago—pressed its darkness into her, complete and smothering. She couldn’t yank it off. She couldn’t signal for help. She couldn’t even wipe her own tears.

The sobs came then, ugly and raw, her whole torso heaving with them. Each exhale fogged the inside of the mask with warmth. Each inhale pulled the silicone tighter against her face. She rocked slightly, forward and back, the only motion available to her, a metronome of despair ticking away in the uncaring garden.

Thirst pulsed in her throat like a second heartbeat.

You survived the storm, Lorna. You survived the burns, the surgery, the weeks of bandages and drains and people speaking in hushed, grave voices. Are you really going to die here, in your own backyard, because of a goddamn sleep mask?

A sound escaped her—not a sob this time, but something harder. Something that might have been laughter if it weren’t so bitter. She imagined Tommy and Leo returning from football, finding her here on her knees in the twilight, blindfolded and weeping and furious. They’d be scared. Good. Let them be scared. Let them understand what their carelessness had cost.

But that required them to find her before the sun set. Before the temperature dropped. Before thirst did whatever thirst did to a body when left too long unanswered.

She tipped her head back, feeling the sun on her throat, that one small patch of skin the mask didn’t cover. Breathed. The air tasted like cut grass and river water and the faint, fading sweetness of Mom’s roses.

So thirsty.

The garden held its silence. Somewhere behind her—she thought it was behind her, but direction had become a concept as slippery as the mask’s wet seal—the river murmured its quiet, constant suggestion. Wait, it seemed to say. Just wait here with me.

Lorna closed her eyes behind the blindfold, a reflexive gesture that changed nothing, and felt the first real edge of something she hadn’t let herself feel since the hospital: surrender. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that comes when all your options have been stripped away and all that’s left is the body you’re trapped in and the darkness you can’t escape.

Her lips parted.

“Mom,” she whispered, knowing the word would fall into grass and go no further. “Mom, I’m down here. I’m down here and I can’t see and I’m so—”

The word “thirsty” didn’t make it out. A sound cut her off. Not the river. Not the wind.

Footsteps.

Light, unhurried, crushing the long grass one blade at a time. Coming closer.

The footsteps stopped.

Lorna turned her blind head toward the sound, her breath still ragged from crying. The mask's silicone seal had gone slick with tears, and every inhale pulled it tighter against her cheekbones.

"Who's there?"

No answer. Just the river's murmur and the rustle of grass as whoever it was shifted their weight.

"Please," Lorna said. The word scraped out of her raw throat. "I need help. I can't—I can't get this mask off. My brothers were supposed to be watching me but they left and I walked the wrong way and I'm so thirsty I can't think."

A cough. Low and deliberate, the kind someone makes when they're deciding what to say.

"You're at the river." The voice was strange—pitched deep, almost theatrical in its gruffness. Male, but not quite. The edges didn't fit right.

Lorna's spine stiffened.

"I know I'm at the river," she said. "I figured that out when I almost walked into it. Can you help me get back to the house? The back door should be—"

"I'll get you water."

The voice again. That odd, forced baritone. Lorna's mind, desperate for something to latch onto beyond the darkness and the thirst, started working through possibilities. Someone young. Someone trying to sound older. Someone who didn't want to be recognized.

"Who are you?"

"Just someone passing by. Saw you from the path. Stay there."

Footsteps retreated. Lorna stayed on her knees, her sundress damp where the grass had soaked through. Her shoulders ached from hunching—the muscles around her amputation sites always tightened when she was stressed, phantom fists clenching where hands no longer existed.

The footsteps returned. Closer now. She could smell something floral. Not perfume exactly. Shampoo, maybe. Or soap.

"Here. Drink."

Something pressed against her lower lip. Cold. Ceramic? No—metal. A water bottle, the rim guided to her mouth by a hand she couldn't see. Water sloshed inside it, and the sound alone made her whimper.

She drank.

The water was cool and tasted of minerals, like it had come from an outdoor tap rather than the filtered pitcher in the fridge. She didn't care. It flooded her parched mouth, cut through the cotton feeling on her tongue, slid down her throat in gulps that were almost painful in their relief. Some of it escaped the corner of her lips and ran down her chin, soaking into the mask's lower edge.

"Slower," the voice said. "You'll choke."

Lorna pulled back, panting. "Thank you. God, thank you. Can you take this mask off now? The buckle's at the back—"

"No."

The word landed like a stone.

"What do you mean, no?" Lorna's shoulders jerked—the instinct to reach up, to grab, to defend herself firing down nerves that ended in nothing. "I need it off. I've been trapped in this thing for hours."

"If I take it off, you'll see me."

That voice. The strain in it. Someone forcing their register down into a cellar it wasn't built to occupy.

"And you'll ask me to leave," the stranger continued. "And you need more help than just water. You're shaking. You can barely stand. Let me take you to the river so you can drink properly, wash your face. Then I'll help you back to the house."

Lorna's heart was beating in her ears now. The thirst was temporarily quenched, but something else had taken its place—a prickling awareness that crawled up her bare arms. The arms she didn't have. The arms that couldn't push anyone away.

The river. She wants to take me to the river.

Not the house. Not safety. Not the phone or the panic button Mom had installed by the refrigerator. The river, where the banks were slippery and the water ran fast enough in spring to knock a grown man off his feet.

"You're a woman," Lorna said.

Silence.

"I know you are. I can hear it. The way you're pushing your voice down—it's not working. Who are you?"

The hand that had held the water bottle withdrew. Lorna heard it being set on the grass. Then another hand—or the same hand, she couldn't tell—settled on her shoulder. Right where the smooth curve of healed skin began, where an arm should have been.

The touch was gentle. Almost reverent.

"You know me," the voice said, and this time it was higher. Softer. Closer to its natural pitch. "You've known me for years. You've just never looked."

Rachel.

The name surfaced from the murk of Lorna's memory like a bubble rising through water. Rachel who lived three houses down. Rachel who had shown up at the hospital with flowers six months ago and lingered in the doorway while Lorna pretended to sleep. Rachel who, before the accident, had come to every single one of Lorna's track meets and sat in the bleachers even when it rained.

Rachel with her serious dark eyes and her strong swimmer's shoulders and the way she always seemed to be waiting for Lorna to notice something.

"Rachel," Lorna said. Not a question.

The hand on her shoulder tightened.

"You're not supposed to know." Rachel's natural voice was a defeat now, all the fake baritone gone. "You were never supposed to know. You'd just tell me to go away, like you always do. Like you've been doing since we were fifteen and I tried to hold your hand at the bonfire and you pulled away so fast I thought I'd imagined it."

Lorna's throat closed.

She remembered the bonfire. Remembered the heat of Rachel's fingers, the way her own body had responded before her brain could intervene—the sudden flush, the stomach-drop of want, the terror that followed. She'd spent the next three months avoiding Rachel's gaze in the school hallway.

"It's not proper," Lorna whispered. The words felt like something her mother had planted in her mouth years ago and forgotten to harvest.

"I don't care about proper." Rachel's voice cracked. "I care about you, kneeling in the grass, blindfolded, crying. I watched you from the path for five minutes trying to figure out if I should approach. You were talking to yourself. You sounded so scared."

"I am scared." The admission broke something open in Lorna's chest. "I'm scared all the time now. I'm scared of door handles and stairs and crossing rooms. I'm scared of people looking at me. I'm scared of never being touched again except by doctors and my mother and people who feel sorry for me."

A beat of silence.

Then Rachel's hand moved from Lorna's shoulder to her cheek, cupping it through the mask's edge. "I don't feel sorry for you. I never have. That's not what this is."

Lorna's lips parted. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before the storm that had taken her arms—that strange, expectant stillness when the sky holds its breath.

"Take me to the river," Lorna said. "If you're going to take me somewhere, take me to the river."

"Really?"

"You said I needed to wash my face."

Rachel helped her stand. It was awkward—Lorna had no arms to grip with, and Rachel had to settle for wrapping both hands around her waist, lifting with the easy strength Lorna remembered from poolside summers. Swimmer's muscles. Rachel had always been built like a girl who could haul herself out of any depth.

They walked together through the long grass, Rachel's arm firm around Lorna's back, guiding her steps. The ground sloped downward. The river's sound grew louder—not a roar, just a steady, conversational rush of water over stones.

"Careful here," Rachel said. "The bank drops off."

She guided Lorna to kneel again. The grass here was shorter, patchy, giving way to mud that squelched under Lorna's knees.

"I'll wash your face now. The mask stays on. I'm not ready for you to look at me yet."

Lorna wanted to argue. Her fingers—her phantom fingers—itched to claw the silicone off, to see Rachel's face, to finally look at her properly after years of carefully not looking. But Rachel was already cupping river water in her palm and bringing it to Lorna's chin.

The water was cold. It ran down Lorna's throat, over the mask's surface, washing away the sticky residue of tears and sweat. Rachel's fingers traced the edge of the silicone, cleaning the seal, and Lorna felt each touch like a tiny electric shock.

"You're beautiful," Rachel said quietly. "You've always been beautiful. Even now. Especially now. The way you hold yourself—you're still fighting. Even when you're lost and blind and thirsty, you're still fighting."

Lorna's breath shuddered out of her. "I don't feel beautiful. I feel like half a person."

"You're not half of anything."

Rachel's hand slid to the back of Lorna's neck, cradling her skull. The other hand still dripped river water onto Lorna's collarbone, tracing the line of her sundress's neckline.

"If I kissed you," Rachel said, and her voice was shaking now, "would you pull away this time?"

Lorna's answer came without thought, without the years of propriety and fear and careful distance. It came from the thirsty place inside her, the place that had been parched for months—not for water, but for this.

"I can't pull away," she said. "I have no arms, remember?"

Something between a laugh and a sob escaped Rachel. Then her mouth was on Lorna's, tentative at first, then harder. The mask was still between them—Lorna's eyes covered, her cheekbones blocked, but her lips were free and Rachel found them with the precision of someone who had been imagining this exact moment for years.

The kiss deepened. Rachel's hand tightened on the back of Lorna's neck. Lorna tilted her head, opened her mouth, let Rachel's tongue slide against hers. The sensation was so overwhelming after months of nothing—no intimacy, no touch beyond medical necessity—that she made a sound she didn't recognize. A moan that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than her throat.

Rachel pulled back, breathing hard. "We should get you to the house."

"No." The word was out before Lorna could stop it. "No, don't stop. Please. I've been starving for this. You have no idea."

"I have some idea," Rachel said, and kissed her again.

This time it was hungrier. Rachel's hands slid down Lorna's sides, over her ribs, settling on her waist. The sundress's thin cotton was no barrier at all—Lorna could feel every finger, every point of pressure. Her shoulders pulled back automatically, her chest pressing forward, and Rachel made a sound of approval against her mouth.

Then the riverbank collapsed.

The mud beneath them gave way with a wet, sucking sound, and suddenly they were tumbling—a confusion of gravity and cold and Lorna's blind panic as water closed over her head. She couldn't swim. She couldn't right herself. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't find which way was up—

Arms locked around her waist.

Rachel's arms, strong as cables, hauling her upward with the same explosive power Lorna had watched from the bleachers at countless swim meets. They broke the surface together, Lorna gasping and sputtering, the mask now askew but still covering her eyes, river water streaming down her face.

"I've got you," Rachel panted. "I've got you. Hold still."

"I can't hold anything."

"I know. I know. Just trust me."

Rachel's body pressed against Lorna's back, one arm across her chest, the other paddling them toward the bank. The water wasn't deep here—four feet, maybe five—but to Lorna, armless and blind, it might as well have been an ocean. She let herself go limp, surrendered to Rachel's strength, and felt the strange, shameful thrill of being completely at someone else's mercy.

The bank came up under them. Rachel dragged Lorna onto the grass, both of them soaked and shivering, their clothes plastered to their bodies. Lorna's sundress had ridden up to her thighs. Rachel's t-shirt clung to the muscular curve of her back.

They lay side by side, breathing hard.

Then Rachel started laughing. A genuine, surprised laugh that seemed to shake something loose in her chest.

"You're insane," Lorna said, but she was almost laughing too. "You were supposed to take me to the house."

"I was trying to do something romantic. Wash your face by the river. Like in a movie." Rachel propped herself up on one elbow. "It was going well until the earth literally moved."

Lorna turned her head toward Rachel's voice. The mask had shifted in the water—she could feel it loosening, one corner pulling away from her temple. "The mask's coming off."

"I know."

"And?"

Rachel was quiet for a moment. Lorna felt fingers brush her forehead, tracing the mask's edge. Then the silicone lifted away, and light flooded in—golden afternoon light, dappled through the oak leaves, so bright after hours of darkness that Lorna had to squint.

Rachel's face came into focus above her. Dark hair plastered to her forehead. River water beading on her cheeks. Eyes that were terrified and hopeful in equal measure.

"Hi," Rachel whispered.

Lorna looked at her—really looked, for the first time since the bonfire, since the track meets, since all those years of pretending not to see. Rachel was beautiful. She'd always been beautiful. Lorna had just been too afraid to admit it.

"My mom's going to be home in an hour," Lorna said.

"I know."

"Kiss me again before she gets here."

Rachel's smile broke across her face like the sun coming out. She leaned down, her wet hair trailing over Lorna's collarbone, and pressed her mouth to Lorna's with the kind of certainty that didn't need arms, or propriety, or anyone's permission.

Lorna couldn't hold her. Couldn't pull her closer. But she could arch up into the kiss, open her mouth, let her legs tangle with Rachel's on the muddy riverbank. She could make sounds she'd never made for anyone. She could stop pretending.

And she did.

On the Trail

 ON THE TRAIL
                                                                                                                         Part 1
                                                                                                                     M. Knight
        
    The brisk blue skies and brilliant colors of autumn had made the decision for me. I had been so completely caught up in my work that I was at the point of losing any sense of what the world was all about. I needed a break. I would bolt the city for a long weekend at a north country island I knew as a boy.
 
    The drive was about six hours and although I hadn't been to the island in a long time, the place hadn't changed much. Same old slow ferry across to the landing, same little store that had one or two of almost everything, same old sign saying 'welcome', but not really meaning it, unless you'd been coming there for years.
    I asked at the store if there were still cabins for rent over near the nature center, and yes, there were a few. Go see Mrs. Mitchell.

    Mrs. Mitchell settled me into a cozy place overlooking the lake, but only after she had inquired about my parents, and the occasional relative that used to visit our cottage when we summered there. Oh, yes, she remembered  very well. 
    Still the weather was invigorating and the scenery was if anything better than I recalled. A cozy fire, a dram of my favorite scotch and the sunset on the water. Wonderful. Tomorrow I would hike up the nature trail and recapture some of my flagging vitality.

    The sun had long risen behind the cottage when I awoke but with coffee and a decent breakfast under my belt, I packed a few things in a little backpack and headed for the Nature Center. A new building had risen in my absence, but among the displays were some that I remembered. A somewhat dusty loon and slightly faded gadwall graced the registration desk. Only two entries had been made that morning. A Mr. Whittaker and son at 7:30, and a Ms. E. Cochran about fifteen minutes ahead of me. 
    I made my entry, put a 'donation' in the earthenware jar and asked if all the trails were open. Yes, certainly. Have a nice day.

    I strode manfully out of the center, across the patch of lawn and onto the path that led to the overlook, the inlet and some of the other point of interest. New trail markers, since I was here last, I noticed. Nice. Deep breath and relax. Good.
    Not as many birds as I had expected but the walk was wonderful. I was moving right along and really beginning to relax when I saw a figure sitting on a stone outcropping just ahead. The breeze had tousled her dusty blonde hair and she was doubled over doing something to her shoe. 
    As I drew closer, I realized that I had come across a most uncommon situation.
She was tying her shoe, certainly, but she had just one shoe. One leg. No visible evidence of another. The pole of an aluminum crutch was at her side. More remarkable was the fact that she was dealing with the errant shoestrings with just stumps of arms. A bit of elbow on one side, a simple tapering stump shy of the elbow on the other, the sleeves of her dark blue sweatshirt shortened to the appropriate lengths. I must have reacted pretty obviously because she looked up at me and said,
    "Sorry if I scared you."
    "Scared me?"
    "Mmm. Most people have some kind of reaction like that when they see my stumpy arms."
    She had a strong, elegant face. Dark blue eyes, set below naturally arched eyebrows.
    "My apologies," I said, doing my very best not to stammer. "Can I be of assistance?"
    "Thank you, no," she said as a half smile came across her face. One of the promises I made to myself when we came here this weekend was to be totally self-sufficient. There! See? I really can tie my shoe. Did you see how I did that?"    
    "Well, not really. I was really just looking at your...arms. they're just kind of unusual."
    "I guess they are to every one else," she said, holding them out for her own inspection,
"but they're the hands I was born with and I guess they seem pretty usual to me."
    "Hands?"
    "Yes, well, not really, but they're as close as I'll ever get, so I call them hands. The left one, mostly. This one with the elbow." She wiggled her forearm back and forth. "The right one's not so much a hand, pretty much just arm, but when people talk they usually say hands, so that's what I do too. Like anyone else."
    "Well you certainly seem self sufficient," I said, searching desperately for some appropriate conversation.
    "I was until this spring."
    "This spring?"
    "When I lost my leg. Car crash, became a cripple forever. Here, we're just talking. We're supposed to be walking. I guess you're supposed to be walking aren't you?"
    "Well, yes, but I can certainly go at whatever pace is comfortable for you, if you don't mind the company."
    "Actually, your company would be welcome. I've set out to do the overlook loop this morning to see if my roommate, an old school friend could manage it. Is that on your way?"
    "If it wasn't it is now. Um...Pardon me, but how do you walk with one leg and ...and no..."
    "Here, this is what they've come up with. I can put my left hand into this loop," she said getting up and slipping the end of her left arm into a fixture on the metal shaft of the crutch. "I tried to find something I could use with my right arm too, but so far I haven't found anything that works. I tried one thing with a leather loop and a strap over my shoulder, but when I tried to use it it cut off all the circulation and it hurt the end of my arm and I couldn't really control it any how, so for six months now I've been swinging along on this one crutch. Seems to work. At least I don't have both hands tied down to crutches."
    She waved her right arm around.
    "I still have one hand left to do things with. Ready?"
    When she stood, I realized that she was quite tall and even clothed in heavy sweats she had a very nice figure. 
    "You sure you want to do this? I'm still not too great doing the one-legged cripple thing yet."
    "I'm certainly ready to give it a try. Besides, I think you're a most interesting person, and if I may say so, very attractive."
    "Thank you, sir," she chirped and started to curtsey before she realized that her crutch wasn't so inclined and had to hop about for a moment flailing her little right arm and the crutch to regain her balance.
"Gotta work on that one," she laughed.
    I was beginning to become very attracted to this young lady.

    Ten minutes later we were up the trail, and had made the appropriate introductions.
She was indeed the E. (for Emma) Cochran that had signed in ahead of me.
    "When we were talking before," I said, "you mentioned an old schoolmate. Where did you go to school?" expecting to hear the name of a college or university.
    "Oh. That. When I was little my folks sent me to special school for a while to see of they could persuade me to use artificial arms and hands. Hooks."
    "Why did they have to persuade you?"
    "'Cause I hated them. They're hot and heavy and they hurt and I felt like some kind of Sci-fi monster in them. And you can't feel anything, you know?" She shuddered. "My right arm is above the elbow so with that you have a choice either to be able to move the forearm or open the hook. Big help. And my left hand is so small that it just slipped around inside the prosthesis and got all red and really hurt when I tried to use the left forearm. Besides, I could do just about everything perfectly well without them. Even tie my shoes. I had two shoes then."
    She moved along holding the crutch close to her body, keeping the tip of it almost under her as she moved. Her right "hand" made little circles in the air with each step. Even moving in this way she was had the grace of a dancer or gymnast.
    "You were talking about your roommate."
    "No," she smiled over her shoulder at me, "you were. You were asking me about her."
    "True."
    "Well that school I mentioned is where I met Sassy. Her name's actually Sara, but everybody calls her Sassy."
    "Like Sarah Vaughn the singer?" 
    "No, just because she's so...well, you'd have to meet her."
    "I'd like that."
    "What? I'm not good enough, right away you want to check out my roommate?"
    She broke into peals of laughter. "I'm sorry, that was rude. It was just too good a straight line to let pass. Forgive me?"
    I was laughing too. We worked our way along the trail, Emma's crutch now and again becoming tangled in a bramble, but no major problems. She moved  elegantlly, pushing branches aside with her right "hand" as she moved along. The path had become steeper now and she hopped up on the rocky ledge that formed the overlook.
 
    "You ready for a break?" I asked. "There's a seat here where you can see the different islands and watch the boats."
    "I am ready for a break," she said. "This hopalong hiking is pretty tiring but I guess I'll get stronger as time goes by."
    She leaned her crutch on the side of the bench and sat. She sat gingerly. I could see now that there was no evidence of any leg stump on her left side. 
    "Thirsty, too." she said. "Should have brought some water or something. Guess I thought I'd have my hands full just navigating."
    "Galahad to the rescue!"
    I pulled two bottles of spring water from my pack and offered Emma one. She took it from me before I thought to open it. Pressing it into the chasm of her bosom with her right arm, she grasped the top with her left "hand" as she called it and rotating the bottle with her right arm deftly opened the bottle. She saw me staring.
    "What?"
    "Just fascinated by the way you can do things."
    "Oh, good. I thought for a minute there you were staring at my boobs," She giggled mischievously.
    "Well, that too. You do have a great body."
    "Why, thank you, again, Sir Galahad!  At least I used to."
    "Used to?"
    She sipped her water, resting the bottle on her right arm and steadying it with her left.
    "Before the accident. My left hip is pretty messed up. Sometimes I wear padding to help fill out the shape, but the sand is pretty much missing from that side of the hourglass. Even just sitting is a little awkward. Can't wear a leg. Nothing to hang it on."

    We sat quietly for a few minutes. She was looking out at the lake, but it was clear that her thoughts were somewhere else. I offered her a granola bar I'd stuck in my pack.
    "Thanks," she said, tearing the wrapper with her teeth. She nibbled at the bar, holding it in both 'hands'.
    "You were asking me about Sassy," she said after while. I met her at the school and we've stayed in touch over the years. When I had my accident and my boyfriend deserted me, I didn't mention that, did I? Anyhow she got on a plane and came out to my place to help me get over the operation and get back on my fee..my foot again. She's a remarkable woman. She really is."
    She turned and looked directly into my eyes. After a while she spoke again.
    "I don't know if you'll ever meet her or not, but Sassy is far more handicapped, to use the word, than I am, even with my leg gone.
The fact that she managed to get herself onto a plane and came to help me tells you a lot about her. Maybe you should meet her."

    We sat and looked out at the sailboats on the lake, and listened to the various bird  songs that floated on the autumn breeze. An orchard oriole flitted into the high branches of a old oak.
    "I don't suppose they have any comfort stations herebouts..." she said looking around.
    "I don't think so. At least they never used to," I said. "Being of the male persuasion, I usually just step off the trail and find a friendly tree."
    "Well, being of the female persuasion and in need of some immediate relief, I suspect I'll be obliged to do something similar."
    She stood up and hopped into the low bushes back along the the side of the trail. I turned my gaze to the lake.
    "Hey, Galahad!" came a cry.
    "What?"
    "I think I'm going to need a little help, if you can stand the idea!"
    "What can I do?"
    "Well, without my other leg I can't squat, so I've been learning how to pee standing up. Now don't laugh, OK? A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Problem is that the technique requires both hands so I can't use my crutch and I keep losing my balance on this hillside. Could you just kind of steady me?"
    She was facing a stately maple tree that showed recent evidence of other passers by in need of relief.
    "Just hold me around the waist, OK?"
    I stepped behind her and did just that. She lowered her sweats, tipped her pelvis slightly foreward, reached down with both arms and produced a strong neat stream.
    "Is it true that you men never speak to each other when you pee?" she asked over her shoulder.
    "Not usually, I said, "unless the're is a conversation already underway. One generally doesnt start anything under those circumstances."
    "Keyword: start anything, right?"
    "Exactly."
    She finished up.
    "All better?" I asked.
    "All better," she smiled, pulling up her sweats. "Thank you. I'll try not to embarass you further."
    "No embarassment at all," I smiled. "Even if your bottom is a little lopsided, it's still mighty cute."
    "Now, now!" she giggled. She had a laugh that sounded like music, there in the woods overlooking the lake.

    I excused myself for  the short time required to take care of my own personal needs and we started back As we moved along the trail I asked her about her roommate. "If she's as  handicapped as you say, do you think she'll be able to handle the trail?"
    "I don't know. She's just so bloody determined. She wanted to come this morning, but we hadn't seen the trail so we didn't know what she'd need to get herself around. She has a skateboard she uses, but that's really only good on sidewalks. We'll have to see what we can rig up to do the trail. I'm not too sure about getting up the ledge though. May have to help her with that."
    "I'll be here until Tuesday, so if I can be of any help..."
    "Thanks. May take you up on that. Ohmigosh look what time it is!"
    She had pushed the sleeve of her right arm up to reveal a delicate gold watch.
    "Something?" 
    "Oh, it's just that I promised Sassy I'd be back to make lunch. I guess I'd better hustle."
    At that she sarted down the trail at a faster pace, taking two hops to every move of the crutch. She was moving well, taking each turn in the trail with ease and grace when a rock suddenly tipped under her crutch. The crutch flew out of her grasp and she went hopping wildly, then tumbling down the trail.
    "EMMA! Are you OK?"
    "OK? Do I look OK?" she shrieked back. "Oh, so damned stupid, trying to run like that. Owww!"
    "What?"
    "My ankle. I've done something godawful to my ankle."
    She was half sitting, half rolling on the ground, pawing at her leg.
    "Just what a one-legged cripple girl needs!" She blurted as I ran to her side, "Don't have a spare anymore. Damn! Damn! Damn! Well, Mr. Galahad, what do we do now? How in heavens name are we going to get back? I can't walk, that's for sure." 
    I knelt and put my arms under her and straightened up. She didn't weigh as much as I expected. She hooked her left arm around my neck and I took a couple of tentative steps along the trail. Her body was soft and warm against my chest.

    "Are you sure you can carry me the whole way?" Her eyes were hot with pain, but very beautiful.
    "Yes, I think so."
    "Stupid thing, trying to run like that. My brain's still not used to being one-legged. If I wasn't a total cripple before, I am now. Damn."
    "It's probably just a little sprain. You'll be as good as new in no time."
    "I'll never be good as new. I had two legs when I was new."
    "Sorry."
    "Never mind. Aren't we forgetting something?"
    "What?"
    "My crutch."
    "I'll come back and get it for you tomorrow morning."  Emma was in pain and her roommate needed lunch. "You certainly won't be able to use it any more today."
    "That's for sure."
    Her little forearm nub felt good around my neck, and it was interesting to watch her push twigs and branches aside with her right "hand".
    "Oh my gosh, how'm I going to make lunch? Sassy can't reach things in the cabin to get anything for herself. Really stupid. Maybe there's some sort of a stool or something I can sit on."
    "If you'll permit the unexpected intrusion, I'm a fair short order cook," I offered.
    "Might just have to accept that offer. I'm sorry, really I am."
    "No problem."
    Within fifteen minutes we had reached the Nature Center. 
    "Is your cabin far?" I asked.
    "No, that's one good thing, it's right over there," she said, pointing to a little cottage just beyond a row of Lombardy Poplars.
    "Wait," she said as we arrived at the door, "I've got the key in the pocket of my shirt, if I didn't drop it back there."
    I adjusted my hold so she could have free use of her arms.
    "No, It's here," she said with obvious relief and using her little arms she nursed the key from her breast pocket.
    "Here," she said, maybe you'd better do it. I have a hard enough time with keys even when I don't have a sprained ankle or whatever."

    The door opened easily and the air was warm inside.
    "Hi, Sass," she called, "I'm back"
    As I pushed the door open and started to carry Emma in, a stubby little figure wobbled out into the hall.
    "About time, Em! What the hell took you...Oh my gosh!"
    Before us stood, if stood is the right word, a torso of a woman, completely armless and topless, for that matter, wearing only a pair of cut-off jeans that revealed that the only vestage of a limb the woman had was a short, tapering right leg stump perhaps five inches in length. Nothing visible on the left. 
    I was so completely taken aback that I nearly dropped my passenger.

    "Emma, this is 'Sir Galahad'. That's not really his name, but he was kind enough to bring me home after I fell and screwed up my one and only ankle."
    Sassy looked at us in amazement, her short auburn locks catching the sun. She had two of the most remarkably outstanding breasts I have ever seen. 
    "Wish I'd known you were bringing a guest home, Emma. I might have gotten dressed! Oh, well, I guess he'll have to take me as he finds me. Welcome, Mr. Galahad, " she said and wobbled along on her rump into the living room.

    "Why don't you put her there," she said, aiming one of her torpedos at the couch.
    "What the hell did you do to yourself, Em?"
    "Oh, Sassy, I was worried about the time and knew you needed me back here for lunch, so I started rushing down the trail and tripped or something and turned my ankle. Hurts like all get out at the moment, but I guess it'll be OK. If it's not better in the morning I'll have to go back to the mainland and go to a doctor. I'm just glad to be back. Oh, Galahad here volunteered to make lunch if that's OK with you."
    "That's cool with me," Sassy said, "I tried to get the fridge open but no luck there. Wasn't going to chip another tooth and everthings too high to reach with my boobs."
    Sassy saw what must have been quite a reaction on my face.
    "Well, that's what they're called, isn't it?"
    She waved her breasts back and forth and chuckled.
  "I guess I'm going to have to hang out with more men, Ems. Get a lot more positive reaction. Women mostly look at me like I'm some kind of freaky pervert. But hey, ya gotta go with what Mama Nature gives you, right? No arms or legs to mention but she came up with nice big boobs that I'm learning to use. Gotta problem with that, Hotshot?
    "N..n.no. No indeed. Whatever works, I guess," I stammered.
    "He's cute, Emma. At least you caught us a cute one. Actually, Mr. Galahad, they don't work worth a hoot. Way to soft and floppy, but at least they're getting big enough that I can do a few things for myself."

    She looked down at her chest and jiggled her left breast, then the right one.
  "They're no substitute for arms. Not even close. Wish they were but they're not. They're just fatty glandular tissue hung on muscle that's designed to do something else. No fingers either unless you count those pink things sticking out at the end. Not really what I'd like but when it's all you got, you try. You just have to try. Hey, is it too warm in here for you? I like it warm  so I can run around like this."
    "Well, I would like to hang up my  jacket."
    "Sure, There's a little closet by the door there. Emma give him your stuff too so he can hang it up."
    Emma pushed her sweat pants off, leaving her in a red silk panties. What she had said about her hip was true. There was a concave place where a leg might have been and about half of the expected amount of buttock on that side. Pulling the top over her head Emma said,  "I usually take my bra off too when Sassy's around. Sort of makes her less self conscious. Think you can handle another bare pair?"
    "Figure of speech, of course?" 
    "Of course. "
    She handed me her things and my estimate had been close, but she had an even better figure than I had thought. Nothing to compare with the sheer size and vitality of her roomate's, but the sort of perfect breasts that sees in many men's magazines. I tried not to let my hands tremble as I hung up our things.
    "So, OK, sport, check out the fridge and see what you come up with," Sassy chirped.
    I found the ingredients for omelets and toast with jam and made tea. Nothing too spectacular but as Sassy said, you go with what you got. There were other possibilities that would have taken longer, but the young ladies were hungry, and quite honestly so was I.
    "Where shall I set the table?"
    "We've been eating at the coffee table," said Emma, 'cause it's just about right for Sassy, but maybe I should stay here on the couch. My ankle's starting to swell."
    "Now, c'mon, Emma, The man's making a nice lunch for us, let's eat at the table."
    "I can't lift you up to the table with this ankle, Sassy, honest."
    "Would you do the honors, stud?" Sassy asked me.
    And so my day continued to present one incredible moment after another as I lifted the wriggling Sassy and the delightfully soft and appreciative Emma to seats at the dining room table. The omelettes were served on warmed plates, tea was poured, and the lunch began. 

        Emma placed a fork into the crook of her left 'hand', as she calls it, and ate as any person might. She buttered the toast as easily, steadying it with the tip of her right arm. She passed a piece to Sassy. As far as her arms were concerned, she seemed very comfortable.
    Sassy leaned foreward against the edge of the table, spreading those breasts out to each side of her plate and managed to eat quite gracefully, taking small bites directly from the plate with her lips and teeth as the conversation continued.
    "We were trying to figure out how to get uou up the trail," Emma was saying. "It's way to rough for your skateboard. I think you're going to have to use that peg leg thing they made for you."
    "I haven't had that rig on in two years. I did send it along up here, though. It's back in my room with my stuff. Maybe after lunch we can try it out and see if it'll work. Did you mean use it with the short peg and walk on that and use a stump boot or try to use those irom maiden crutches?"
    "Did you send the iron maiden thing too?"
    "Yeah. I figured something might happen so I just sent everything but my chair. Hey, this omelette's good. Thank you."
    "You're welcome," I said. "By the way, If you both feel up to it, I could take you both over to my cabin this evening. I've got some provisions on hand and I could make a decent dinner for us all."
    "Sounds tempting," Emma said. "Would we have to dress for dinner?"
    "No, indeed. Unless, of course you want to. I've got plenty of firewood, so  we can be just as cozy as it is here."
    "I'm up for it, Sassy, how about you?"
    "Hey, you know me. I'm a regular party animal!"

ON THE TRAIL
                                                                                                                                     Part 2
                                                                                                                               M. Knight

        
    "Sassy, why don't you get out that iron maiden rig and maybe our bew friend can help you with it," Emma said. You could even try it out tonight walking over to his cabin, then he'd only have one person to carry."
    I lowered Sassy's limbless torso from her chair and as I took care of the dishes she toddled back to her room from which I could hear some thumping noises. Eventually she returned with an assortment of aluminum tubing and plastic forms draped over her narrow shoulders.

    "Here's the stuff," she said, brushing her breasts together, as if dusting them off. It was really disconcerting to watch her moving those big breasts the way people do their arms or hands. Even with that she was quite pleasant to be around. Her face was warm and open and her ready smile quickly put me at ease.
    "How does it work?" I asked.
    "The plastic forms go around my chest," she said, "My shoulders are too small and soft to support anything  so they figured out this way to clamp the forms around my ribs and the metal rods get tightened down on each side. They can be adjusted by twisting them, pulling them to the right length, then twisting the other way."
    She wobbled her way into the center of the pile.
    "This contraption here is a kind of bucket my bottom goes in.  These," she said pointing her left breast at two rods, one about two feet long the other about five inches, "are the peg legs that screw into it. If I wear a special padded boot on my leg, I can motor right along on the shorty version."
    "How's the 'iron maiden' work?"
    "That uses the longer peg. Hey, did you have something else planned for this afternoon?"
    "Not at all. Just taking the weekend off here on the island."
    "Well, OK, then. You want me to try it on?" 
    "Sure."
    "We can save some time if you help, OK? I used to be able to get into this rig alone but it takes like forever."
    "What shall I do?"
    "Take my jeans off."
    "Pardon me?"
    Emma doubled over with laughter.
    "Take my jeans off," Sassy repeated, laughing herself. "I can't fit into the bucket with jeans on."
    "Fair enough."
    I removed her little cut off jeans, leaving her bottom as bare as her top.
    "OK, so I don't wear panties. One less thing to deal with in the bathroom. I do have to wear something on the bucket, though, or I'll get chafed to kingdom come. Here," she said aiming a  breast at some cotton things, "put those panties on me. The ones with just one leg. I can't pee wearing this bucket, but that's the way things go."
    I fitted the cotton panties onto her pelvis, adjusting the fit around her leg stump.
    "You got great hands, kid. He's got great hands, don't you think, Em?"
    Emma laughed again. That wonderful musical laugh.

    "So, OK, the next thing is set me in the bucket. Don't put the peg in it yet. Right, with my leg sticking out. Good. And buckle the strap. Perfecto."
    All of this was giving me a incredible rush.
    "Now, while I'm still upright, strap the plastic chest forms on me. Get the places where my boobs fit in lined up and the rest should fall into, place. I tried to make them cut out holes for my boobies but they said the rig wouldn't be strong enough that way. I can't move at all inside it. Barely breathe. That's why I call it an iron maiden. Lordy I hate feeling so strapped in. OK, all buckled up?"
    "All done."
    "OK. Now, lets build the rest of the machine. You want to do my peg or the crutches next? Doesn't really matter."
    With that she toppled over backward, just missing hitting her head on the floor.
    "Better do the peg first, then adjust the crutches to length. Screw that long thing in, stud, go go go!"
    They both broke into peals of laughter. I might have been embarrassed but their laughter saved the day.

    "OK, now put the crutches on. See where they fasten at the sides? Undo the wingnut and put it on and tighten the wingnut again. Right. And the other side. Cool. Now, all ready?"
    "I guess so."
    "OK, get around behind me and lift me up. EASY...OK, There. That's it."
    There in the center of the cottage living room stood Sassy on one aluminum peg leg, nearly five feet tall, her little bare stump waving around under her. She was supported and steadied by the two aluminum props that were fixed to the sides of the plastic forms enclosing her chest.
    "We gotta adust the crutches," she said. "They're too far back. They need to be one more notch foreward."
    "This set up is different from what you had at the shool," Emma said while I adjusted the angle of the crutches.. 
    "Yep. I didn't have boobs then. When I developed they changed the chest forms and attached the crutches lower. Actually works better. I use the same bucket for both short and long, too. Leaves my leg hanging out and Oh, guess what! I can use my leg to push the elevator button!"
    "Great," said Emma. "You usually use your right, uh.. nipple otherwise?" 
    "The one at home, yes," said Sassy. "Some of the others I have to use my nose or chin or something. I still can't reach up very high."
    "Take a couple of steps around the room," Emma said, "show him how you can walk."
    With some effort, Sassy leaned back onto her single peg, arched her back angling the crutches foreward then leaned into the new position. She then lifted her bottom and hopped the peg up between the crutches.
    "Hey! What do you think? Pretty decent, eh?" She took a short tour around the room.
    "In case you hadn't noticed, this is one hell of a lot of work," she said. "I can get around a lot better and faster on my fanny. Plus I can use my boobs. I can do this if necessary, though. Maybe I'm just out of practice. They worked so hard with me at the institute. They really wanted to find some way for me to stand up and walk around."
    "You feel up to going over to his place in that rig?" Emma asked.
    "Shoot, I'm all trussed up like a Christmas turkey, I might as well try it."
    And so I Got Emma's clothes and my jacket, Sassy's short peg, found a coat for her and a few minutes later with Emma in my arms and Sassy in her threepoint rig we had set out for my cabin.
    Once inside, with Sassy steady on her props, I put Emma on my daybed and started a fire in the fireplace.
    "Hey this place is nice," said Sassy. "your view is better than ours. Mind if I take a look around as long as I've got this rig on? I can see better from up here."
    "By all means. Make yourself at home."

    Sassy plodded off around the cabin and I sat down next to Emma. She took my hand in her arm stumps and stroked it.
    "You really do have nice hands," she said looking at my hand. "What does it feel like? To have hands, I mean. Real hands." I had no answer.
    She looked at the ends of her arms. 
    "No, that's OK. I was just thinking out loud," she said very quietly. She held the ends of her arms together and wriggled the little forearm stub on her left arm. The muscles in her right arm became tense, then relaxed . 
    "Sometimes I try to see if I can wiggle my fingers. If I close my eyes and pretend, sometimes I think I can feel them. I guess that's stupid. They're just ugly dumb stumps.
That's all. Ugly stumps."
    "They're not ugly, Emma. Really. They're just as beautiful as the rest of you." I took the ends of her arms in my hands and looked into her deep blue eyes. "I think these hands of yours are as wonderful as any hands I've ever seen. Besides, They're the hands you were born with, aren't they?"
    She nodded.
    "And nothing's been chopped off, has there?"
    She shook her head.
    "Then you can't very well call them stumps, can you?"
    She looked at her arms, then up to my eyes. Then she put her arms around my neck and kissed me.
    "Hey you love birds, let's keep it under control!" came the teasing voice of Sassy as she thumped back into the living toom.
    "Great place," she continued. "So how's about getting me out of this straight jacket now? Case you don't remember I can't go to the john in this rig."
    Emma and I both laughed a little and I went to Sassy's rescue.
    "How's your ankle doin, Em?" she asked as I unbuckled the various straps.
    "Feels a little better, really," she said stroking her ankle. "Still pretty swollen, though."
    "Good. Not broken. It'd be getting worse, not better," she said as she rolled out of the chest armor. "Hey, you got anything to drink?"
    I listed the contents of the portable bar I had brought with me, "and I have some wine to go with dinner."
    "Where'd you find this guy?" Sassy asked as I started to lift her up, "He's great. No, get this cotton underwear off me too, would you, hotshot? I love to feel nice carpet like this in my toes."
    More laughter.
    "Fix me a bourbon with just ice, no water, OK, I'll be right back, I hope."
    And with some care, I tipped her into an upright position and she started swivelling her way back to the bathroom. 

    I sat down on the daybed beside Emma who was still concerned with her 'hands'.
    "I wish I could pick up change from the counter or a paper clip. I wish I could do a lot of things like that. And I wish people wouldn't stare at me when I do just anything at all. Ever sinci I was a little kid. Makes me feel like some carnival freak or something. Why can't people just accept that my hands are different and not get so uptight about it." I hugged her. She was quiet for a time then said, 
    "But then, when I see Sassy, I realize I'm not so bad off. Then, too" she said, waving her stumps at me, "think of the money I save on nail polish!"
    She giggled.
    "Actually one time my brother painted fingernails on my stumps ...no, I won't call them that anymore, on the tips of my arms when I was in high school. Funny. At least I thought it was."

    "Hey, Emma, you still an invalid?" came a call from the bathroom.
    "Fraid so. I guess I could crawl back there on my hands and knees...er knee."
    "No, that's OK. I just can't reach the john paper from the seat here. I've been trying but I keep falling over."
    "Be right there," I volunteered, as Emma nodded her agreement.
    "How'd you get up there? I asked the enthroned Sassy as I entered the little bathroom.
    "Crawled up on the side of the tub and then hooked my chin on the sink and swung over. Figured it out when I was touring in the 'iron maiden'. Didn't figure the distance to the paper roller though."
    I took a few squares from the roll and began to dry my guest's privates.
    "Well, thanks, there, fella. Didn't expect full service," she said. "Betcha this a first for you isn't it?"
    "A number of things have been firsts today," I smiled.
     "Thanks. I can do  a lot of things for myself, but a little assistance goes a long way. Lift me down now will you sport? I'm ready for that drink."

    The fire had made the cabin as warm as their place when I carried the naked torso of Sassy back to the living room. 
    "Damn, you still got your clothes on?" Sassy chuckled at Emma. "Why don't you get comfortable?" Emma began by taking off the top of her heavy sweats. 
    "For that matter, stud, I don't know why we're the only ones showin' off our wares.  How's about a peek at thast manly chest of yours?"
    "Sassy, you're terrible!" Emma said. The guy's nice enough to take care of us and cook dinner, don't be a pain!"
    "Oh, all right, Miss Prim!""
    "No problem," I said. Don't want to be the odd man out here!"    
In fact the room was so warm that the prompting by Sassy was welcome.
    I  hung my shirt and Emma's top back in my closet, changed into shorts and started to make some drinks.
    I fixed Sassy's bourbon and started a scotch for myself. 
    "Emma?"
    "Scotch, too, please, if there's enough."

    I sliced some cheese onto a plate and dumped some crackers into a little basket I found in the kichen. Mrs. Mitchell had seen to it that certain things were always there for her renters.
    "Where do you want to sit? or stand or whatever?" I asked Sassy.
    "By golly, I think he's getting with the program," she laughed and headed for the daybed. "Give me a boost, will ya, sport? There's room for three up there isn't there?"
    "Sure." I boosted her up, she swivelled around and said,"OK, I'm ready, hand me that nice drink."
    I held the drink in front of her. She shrugged her little shoulders, closing her breasts on the glass and raised it. "Here's to a great day. Em's ankle is just a little strain, and she's found a new friend!"
Enmma raised her glass. "Here here!"
    So the three of us, sitting on the daybed, celebrated the day. Sassy took the edge of the glass in her teeth and gently took a little sip of her drink, returning the glass to her bosom.
    "Hey, I got my hands full. Could somebody fix me a piece of cheese, please?"
     Emma placed a bit of cheese on a cracker and presented it balanced neatly on the tapered tip of her right arm. The fact that she had to reach across in front of me gave me ample opportunity to appreciate that most perfect figure. This was a very nice day.

    The sun began to get close to the horizon, and the calories made the room even warmer. Emma looked at my shorts and decided that her sweatpants had to go. She handed me her drink and pushed at the the sweats. They and her red silk undies suddenly hit the floor together, leaving her as well-dressed as her roommate. 
    "Whoops!" she  said. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to expose the place where my leg used to be." I quickly handed her the scotch. "I know it's not very pretty even though they did their best."
    "Emma, It's not a problem. Really." 
  "You don't mind ?" 
    "Not in the slightest." The surgery scar was nearly invisible on her hip but some distortion remained.
    "More comfortable?"
    "I am, really." she put her drink down and got some cheese and a cracker for herself.
    "I just didn't want you to see right away. I know I look funny down there and I feel a little strange about being ...um, bald, too."
    "Oh?"
    "That happened in the hospital. When I woke up I had no leg and no pubic hair. For the follow up surgeries they did it again. Then when I was home it looked so weird, all sort of one-sided when it started to grow in so I just started shaving myself. What do you think, Sassy? You saw it before. Do I look better like this?"
    "Yep. A bunch. More nude, I'd say, than naked. How does it feel? I mean itchy or anything? Reason I ask is that I step on my fun fur a lot when I run around barefoot and it hurts like hell. Anything I should know?"

    As Emma began her discourse on the ins and outs of feminine shaving, I excused myself from the conversation, freshened the drinks and the fire and stepped over to the kitchen area to begin supper.
    What Mrs. Mitchell had put in the refrigerator was a good-sized steak, peas and greens for a salad. In a basket on the counter were some potatoes suitable for baking.
    "Can we eat at the coffee table?" Emma asked. "Sassy does better there and considering how we're dressed, I think I'd be more comfortable there, too. Is that OK? And we can watch the fire."
    While the potatos baked another round of drinks was poured.

    "Oh this is such fun," Emma said, stretching out on the daybed. Sassy had slid down ont the floor and was leaning over the coffee table. As I watched, she rubbed her right nipple back and forth along the edge of a picture book. Within a few seconds the nipple enlarged and became quite firm. Then she repeated the sequence with her left breast. She saw me watching her.
    "Like I said, not fingers, but it's what I got and that's how I have to do it." Then she used these now-erect appendages to open one of the books that lay on the table. "This is a neat book," she said, leafing through its pages. "Tells all about the history of the lake area and its wildlife. I really have to do that trail tomorrow. I mean, that's the whole reason I came out here. If Hopalong over there isn't up to it, are you available, Galahad?"
    "I'm available until Tuesday, Sassy. After that you're on your own. Ok, ladies how do you like your steak?"

    A few minutes later places were set at the coffee table, the wine was poured and the meal was served.
    I don't remember the conversation. I was far too fascinated by the women dealing with their steak, peas, potatos and salad. And their wineglasses.
    Emma had captured the stem of her wineglass in the crook of her elbow and proposed a toast. Sassy enclosed a glass between her breasts and lifted it in reply.
    The firelit image of Emma cutting her steak and Sassy's by pressing a fork down with her little right arm and cutting it with a knife held in her elbow will be with me forever. Sassy, with obvious pleasure, managed to pick up a fork between her breasts and locate the tip under the morsel she fancied. Then she lowered one of those magnificent mammeries on the handle of the fork and tipped it up so that she could eat from a fork "like everyone else". The potato was nibbled directly as the omelette at lunch had been. I've tried to remember every second. The conversation eludes me now, but the images remain. 

    "I don't do dishes," Sassy said, I do recall that. "I can, believe it or not, I just don't."
    I carried the dishes to the sink. When I turned, the two girls had their heads together, eyeing me and giggling.
    "We've decided that because you rescued me and made both lunch and dinner," said Emma, "that we should be very nice to you tonight."
    Being very nice to me was the understatement of all  time. Slowly, one little move at a time, they teased me, tickled me, got me out of my shorts and up on the daybed. 
    That whole night was spent in every possible, every conceivable kind of lovemaking.
Each girl devised some special new treat as the other was driving me mad with something only a woman of her physical description could accomplish. They wouldn't even allow me to become exhausted. At any sign of flagging energy I was immediately teased by the pair back into some semblance of vitality. Mercifully, by dawn I had become unconscious and slept until noon.

    The smell of freshly brewed coffee returned me to life, and I opened one eye to see a cup and saucer balanced on Sassy's two big boobs. Emma was curled up beside me.

    "Good morning, Sir Galahad," Sassy said, her eyes shining. 

    "Ready for day number two?"

A Day of Domestic Bliss - Peggy

 A Day of Domestic Bliss

The weekends are for Peggy to catch up on all the chores for keeping a clean and orderly home.  It is also something from which she gets a sense of satisfaction.  Being that it's raining today, (Saturday of all days, can you believe it?),Peggy declares it's a day for doing the laundry, vacuuming, and general cleaning up. 

Peggy comes from a long line of independent women.  After her accident, she worked hard to re-learn how to do things she took for granted before.  She now takes pride in being able to not only work, but to take care of our house too.  

After breakfast I will go out into the living room and sit, read or work with my laptop doing reports, e-mail, or pulling down the latest Retail information off the Internet.  I know, I know, you're asking yourself why doesn't that lazy son of bee get off his duff and help her?  The answer is simple, Peggy won't have it.  There are things Peggy insists on doing herself, and without my help, if possible.  

Peggy has many rules we must abide by, one is "all dirty clothes go into the laundry room and into the hamper."  That was hard for me for I am one of those guys that drops them and leaves them.  But, I soon got used to it and found it's nice to have a clean floor as well as a clean home.

Well anyway, I can see Peggy crutch over to the laundry room from the bedroom.  She is so graceful and smooth at it.  When I first started to get to know Peggy, I was startled by how quietly she could crutch around her parents' home. So I don't have to worry about her upsetting the downstairs neighbors with a clunk, thud, clunk, thud, etc., when she moved in with me.

I can see easily into the laundry room from my chair, so I can watch Peggy while she is doing laundry, with no problem.  Peggy is usually concentrating so much that my watching her appears to go unnoticed.  

Once in the laundry room Peggy places her crutch against the wall.  The hamper is right next to the washing machine so she does not have to do a lot of hopping from it to the washer.  She opens the hamper and begins to separate the clothes into separate piles. One pile for lingerie (that's a big pile), one pile for whites, and another for colors.  Once this is done Peggy can start the wash.  

As I watch, Peggy bends down to pick up the lingerie.  Peggy's white (for some reason she always wears white to clean in) baby doll dress rides up and over her cute little half butt.  I also have a clear view of her whole leg as well. 
 
Let me describe to you what I am seeing. Peggy has a very strong leg.  She keeps herself in shape, so her leg is very strong as well as feminine. Her calf muscles are very developed, round and smooth from doing a lot of hopping. Her knee (can't see it now in her present position) is one of the most feminine and delicate knees I have ever seen on a girl.  Now on up to Peggy's lovable thigh, it's so pink, warm, firm and well developed from her workouts as well as being soft and warm to the touch.  I have spent many hours worshipping every square inch of Peggy's leg so I know what I am talking about.  

I can honestly tell you I am very hard now just from this short little show she has put on, and her chores have only started. Groan!

As I gaze above her thigh, Peggy's enchanting little butt comes in view. Covering her little butt is a pair of her ruffled black lace panties. Its surface encases her half butt and accents the view I am getting.  My view is soon lost as Peggy straightens up and begins to place her lingerie evenly around the tub.  This too causes her to lean over, but this time just her full leg is on display.

Her leg is taut; the muscles of her thigh and calf are flexed.  I wish I had the words to describe how beautiful and feminine her one leg really is.  My eyes feast on the sight as Peggy completes the task.  Soon she is upright and 
reaches for the special soap for her lingerie from the shelf.  This time Peggy rises on her toes, causing her calf muscles to flex and the pink, smooth and rounded skin can now be fully viewed.  Dropping down on her foot with the plastic bottle she lays it on its side.  Here she grabs it with her thumb and wrist holding onto the bottle by its handle so that it is upside down.  Now she begins to pour some of the special soap into the tub.  Once done she puts the bottle back up and I am treated to another view of her strong calf.  Down off her toes she comes and gently closes the lid.

Setting the dials properly takes a little ingenuity on Peggy's part. By pressing the palm of her wrist flat against the dial and her thumb wrapped along the side, Peggy can turn it to the proper setting, which she does now.  The first 
load is started so Peggy retrieves her crutch and maneuvers out of the laundry room and into the kitchen.

So far I haven't got a thing done, except get a boner from watching Peggy.  It's going to be a long day I think.  The kitchen is a little harder to see into from my chair so on the pretext of needing to ask her some questions on the clothing styles I have been reviewing, I move over to the kitchen door to talk to Peggy.

Having asked the question and getting an answer (you know, I can't even remember what the question or answer was). Peggy continues to work on chores in the kitchen while I was doing this. My mind goes blank, for now Peggy is bending over and using a paper towel to dry a wet spot on the floor.  Her taut, muscular and sculptured leg is displayed in all its glory.  Also, on display and much closer now is her nicely packed half butt, covered in her tight little ruffled black panties.  I can easily see the four rows of ruffles and the rounded cheek they encase, and on the other side with its indentation where her hip and leg used be.  It takes all my strength not to go over and slip those panties down and worship her body.  

I tried that once, I was in a frenzy after watching her do the cleaning. Though she liked it she scolded me afterwards and put on her sweats to finish the job. And for several weeks afterwards, she wore her sweats to clean in.  So now I 
just watch, and Peggy has gone back to wearing her baby doll dresses or something just as revealing to wear around the house.  And once again, I can enjoy the show she puts on me.

Peggy straightens up from cleaning the floor.  It is now time for her to do the dishes. We talk of different things as Peggy does the dishes (you know I was again in such a muddle I can't tell you what we talked about). To do the 
dishes, we have a hand glove for washing and a different one for drying that Peggy can slip onto her wrist and thumb.  She also has a rubber mat for her use to help her keep the dish in place while she washes, and one mat for drying the dishes after she has washed them.

Peggy is not able to scrape the plates, so we have a rubber squeegee to help her. She places the dish on the bottom of the sink, picks up the squeegee between her thumb and wrist and runs the scraper over the dish.  Any bones or 
objects that won't go into the disposal she places in the garbage pail.  Once all the dishes have been scraped and everything is stacked next to the sink for cleaning she will run the water and by moving the nozzle all over the sink 
area she can wash all the food particles into the garbage disposal.  Once the sink is cleaned of all food particles, she can flip the switch to the garbage disposal with her thumb until it is empty and then turn it off. 

We have a two tub sink, so once this is done she will turn the nozzle to the other tub and begin to fill it, adding some soap from the bottle. This she can turn up side down and squeeze to get the soap out by taking the bottle between her thumb and wrist.  As it is filling she place the dishes to be washed in the water to soak.  To do this, she takes one plate, bowl, cup or glass at a time and places them in the soapy water.

As we continue to talk, Peggy would take a plate or cup or glass, place it on the rubber mat and wash it using the hand glove, rinse it and put it on the drying rack which is placed on the other side of the sink.  All the dishes are 
easily done in this way.  The frying pans take a little more work.  I glued a Brill-o pad to a separate washing glove, this she can use to scrape the pans or any hard to clean dishes.  The pan is placed on the rubber mat and she will use 
the special washing glove (after getting lots of soapy water on it) to scrap the pan so that is thoroughly clean.  Running it under the water she can then rinse it and place it too on the drying rack.


Once all the washing is done, Peggy will put on the drying glove and by placing the dish, pan or whatever on the rubber mat she can dry each item by running the drying glove over it, then turn it, or turn it upside down.  She is able to dry the whole surface of all our dishes or pots this way.

Now to put the dishes back in the place in the cupboard Peggy must reach up and stretch into the cupboard to put each dish in its proper resting place.  Again I am afforded a perfect view of Peggy's well-sculptured leg, and her firm panty covered butt.  Her smooth pink skins, those firm muscles, are such a delight to see.  Only when it comes to the large frying pan does she ask me to help her.  I put the pan away; it hangs from a metal bar that hangs from the ceiling.  My job is easily done, so as I turn to talk to Peggy some more I see her smoothly crutching off around the corner.  Sigh!

I can hear Peggy getting into the closet for the vacuum cleaner so I head back on over to the sofa where I can again work on my laptop (yea right!).  From my perch on the sofa I can see Peggy at the closet.  She has placed her crutch 
against the wall while she works with the vacuum cleaner.

Peggy has bent over to reach into the closet to grab the hose and pull out the vacuum. Her long feminine leg is in full view as her baby doll dress rides up to her little butt with just a hint of her black panty showing.  Her bare foot flat on the carpeted floor is motionless.  From the side like this I can see into the expanse of Peggy's cleavage that her baby doll dress so invitingly displays.  

Peggy's double Ds are a wonder of firmness.  Her breasts are smooth, rounded and emanate warmth from every pore of their surface.  Today, I see she is wearing a black half cup bra, one I like for it holds her breasts up on a shelf and allows her nipples to be free as well as rubbed by the fabric of her dress as she moves around, thus causing them to become turgid and much larger than they would be under normal conditions.  All this is evident, for her baby doll is not tight on top and allows for much of what is underneath to come into view when she is bent over like this.  

So it was with great delight as I switched from her firm leg, to her breasts and back again during her little performance at the closet. Not to mention that feminine baby doll on display in-between.  Is it any wonder I do not get any work done when she is house cleaning?  

Well, she has pulled the vacuum cleaner out and has again reached in giving me another chance to bask in her exposed beauty.  I never get tired of looking at Peggy's charms. After a little bit I see she has the rug attachment out too.  Peggy places the rug attachment so that the top is in alignment with the hose from the machine.  Bending at the waist she picks up the hose by grasping it as best she can with her thumb and wrist wrapped around the hose.  Then by lifting, she can bring the end of the hose up to the nozzle for the rug attachment. She must then hop over and behind the attachment, and she will then press against it with her body to keep it from moving. Then by slipping the hose over the end and pulling it towards her, thus she can get as much of the hose on the attachment as is necessary.

Now she is ready to start the vacuuming.  To turn on the vacuum you must push a lever at the machine itself.  It's designed to be activated by a foot.  Well Peggy only has one foot and she has it in use.  So she bends at the waist facing me.  I am now getting a delectable view down the front of her dress; her two large nipples I can see are still turgid.  Also, most of her cleavage is in now on view, for I have a better view from this new position she is now in.  I think that dress must really do nice things for her for, her nipples are really turgid and appear to be larger than before, her chest has taken on a light pinkish color now too.  Using her wrist to push down the lever, she has started the machine.  Standing straight again she now must turn on the rug beater. By placing the top of the rug attachment against her waist she can hold it still while she uses her thumb to slide the switch to activate the attachment.  Now 
everything is on and Peggy can now start to vacuum the floor.

By maneuvering the attachment out along the room she can then by pushing, hop, push, move along the rug and vacuum it.  This is a slow process and it takes a while for her do a whole room.  But I get to watch her hop around.  Her breasts don't bounce much because of the half bra but she sure jiggles a lot and sometimes her open top comes down enough to expose a pretty, turgid and enlarged, nipple.  

What's also fun is, if Peggy sees something on the rug, like money, a pen, button or whatever.  She will let go of the nozzle and gently hop over to the item. Then she will bend at the waist to retrieve and pick up the item. Again I am given a nice view of her strong leg; from her cute little toes to her cute and tiny half butt.  Her sculptured leg, muscles all taut, are heavenly to look at.  Her panty-covered butt is also displayed many times during this operation.  
I am never too busy to view her splendid scenery.

Peggy does not appear to notice that I am watching her, nor for that matter that she is showing me so much of her charms while she is doing her housework.  She is like a ballet dancer as she sways, pushes, hops, bends and retrieves all about the room as if doing a choreographed dance.  The dance of the swans you might say.  Each movement of her body captivates me; the grace and charm of each action that she makes is so wonderful to watch.

At the finish of the living room, Peggy is often covered in sweat. Her warm pink skin glistens with her oils and sweat. Her baby doll dress is now covering her breasts and tight tummy like a glove; only the tiny swirling skirt does not attach itself to her perfection.  Her nipples, still turgid are making two tiny tents in the bodice of her dress.  As she continues to move about I notice that as her breasts jiggle they make the dress top also jiggle, their warmth and 
mass drawing me like a moth to a flame.  But I dare not stop Peggy in her quest to clean our apartment.  So I let her continue in her quest.

By this time the washing machine has completed its last cycle. So she hops over to the laundry room.  Bending slightly she opens the dryer door first. She straightens up and then reaches up high to get the clothes softener sheet 
from the cabinet.  In doing so her little baby doll dress rides up past her ruffled black panty.  Her firm cheek jiggles as she tries to keep her balance while up on her toes, for she is reaching up and off to the side.  Not an easy task to perform, even with someone with as much ballet training as Peggy has done.

Soon the softener is firmly held between her thumb and wrist when she comes down.  This she tosses into the dryer.  Now she opens the washer and reaches inside, this too causes her to bend and her dress again raises above her black 
panties, her thigh muscles taunt and firm; a sheen of sweat is still visible over the surface of her smooth skin.  Each grab brings up her frillies to be tossed into the dryer.  As she continues to bring her frillies she has to reach way down to the bottom of the tub.  Going down that far she practically has her whole body inside the washer trying to retrieve the wet clothes.  By now her whole ruffled black panty is now on display to above her waist so that I can 
clearly see the waist band at the top.  God, what a sight that is to see.  The effort is causing her to sweat even more now and her panty is beginning to paste itself to her tiny butt.  Once all of the wet clothes are in the dryer and all she will need to do is adjust the dryer settings. By placing the flat of her wrist against the dial and wrapping her thumb around the edge she is able to turn the dial to the correct setting she wants.  This is soon done and she turns the dryer on.

She now retrieves the colored dirty clothes off the floor.  More views of her displayed athletic leg and ruffled covered half butt as she bends and plops each grab into the washing machine.  More soap added, the setting of the dials, and finally turning the machine on.  Now she is ready to continue her other cleaning tasks.  

She hops and pushes the vacuum cleaner down to her next cleaning chore, the den.  Soon I hear her hop, then the push as well as the noise of the vacuum; this repeat pattern all too soon turns rhythmic as she cleans the den floor.  
The den is smaller so I am not surprised to soon see her hop and push her way down the hall as she vacuums it too.  Only this time she will turn and swing so that the width of the hall is vacuumed evenly as she works her way down the hall towards our bedroom.

Here I see Peggy turn off the vacuum.  I see her go to the linen closet, where she pulls out a clean pair of sheets, mattress cover and pillowcases. These she places each on her chair and hops over to the bed. Bending at the waist, Peggy gives me another nice side view of her firm muscular leg.  Standing back up straight she hops back to the bed.  She begins the task of making our bed by pulling the bed cover, blanket and sheets off and onto the floor.  By lifting 
each pillow by the closed side she gets the pillow form to drop out of the pillowcase. I am fascinated as always by the way her body wiggles, or shakes as she performed each maneuver of this task. When she is finished, there are two piles, one for the sheets the other for the blanket and bedspread.



She grabs the sheets between her thumb and wrist and begins to make short hops towards the laundry room where she deposited them to be cleaned later. Even with the uneven load in her hand and sheets dragging to the side and behind her, she is able to maintain her graceful hops to the laundry room.  Peggy's prior ballet training and athletic endeavors of the past have given her a grace and style no other triple amputee could ever hope to achieve.

Back to the bedroom, Peggy removes the clean sheets off the stool and places them on the floor next to the bed.  Next she sits on the stool and maneuvers it over to the bed.  Standing again after picking up the fitted mattress sheet, 
she hops over to the end of the bed.  The cover is folded so that Peggy only has to unfold it from one end of the bed to the other, rather than by going across the bed by one fold at the time until she is about half way across the bed, 
about the length her arm can reach.  At this point she can go to other side and by reaching way over, bring the rest of the fitted mattress sheet to other side.  Sometimes if I am quick and get in there on some flimsy excuse of getting 
something, a nail clipper or something, I can continue to watch.  If I do get there in time I am treated to a great view of Peggy's panty covered butt up close and her strong well muscled leg as she makes our bed.  Once the sheet is in place, at each corner, she will grab the middle of the corner and pull the cover down and under the bottom of the mattress until it is properly fitted.

The sheet and blanket are put on in the same manner as the fitted mattress sheet.  Next the bedspread goes on. Peggy finds a corner for the top left side, and by pulling it up and over the bed, she can position the bedspread. By going 
around and pulling it into place as she works her way around the bed, she can get the spread just about to where she wants it.  Now Peggy needs to straighten the spread so it is even all around.  She does this by sitting in the chair and 
using her foot.  By grabbing the blanket with her toes, she can pull down or over depending on what she feels is necessary to make the bedspread evenly placed on our bed.  As she is sitting up on the stool, Peggy has a good view 
of the bed and can tell when it is in place correctly. She has done this so often it does not take her long to complete.

The last to be done is the pillows, there are three.  Peggy sits on the floor with the pillows around her.  Taking one pillowcase between her thumb and wrist, she places it on the floor.  By using her foot Peggy will lift one side of the 
pillowcase and by grabbing the pillow between her thumb and wrist, stuff both into the pillowcase.  Then she will grab the top of the pillowcase, any side will do, and raise it up off the floor, shaking it to get the pillow in place 
correctly.  Once all three are done she will arrange them on the bed.

Now she finishes vacuuming the bedroom and returns it to the hallway closet.  After taking the carpet cleaner attachment off and placing it inside the closet she will then place the vacuum inside next to it too.

The bathroom is next on her list of rooms to clean.  Cleaning the toilet bowl is not pleasant for anyone, including Peggy, so it's no wonder that she likes to get that part over with as soon as possible.  To clean the inside, Peggy must, with her partial wrist and thumb, grab on to the edge of a sponge.  This allows a lot of the sponge to be used to clean with each movement along the surface of the toilet.  In this manner she can pretty much clean the top and inside of the toilet without too much trouble.  By sitting in her chair she can use her foot to clean the outside of the toilet.  Again, she can grab the end of the sponge with her toes.  And by pressing the sponge against the sides she can clean all over the outside of the toilet. By keeping the cleaning liquid in a bowl near her on the floor she can easily replace the cleaner in the sponge, and by squeezing it against the bottom of the bowl, she gets rid of the dirt on the 
sponge and soaks up new cleaning liquid.    

Now for the bathtub.  By rinsing out the bowl with the cleaner in it and replacing the water with fresh water and add a more appropriate cleaner fluid for the tub.  She set the bowl on the floor of the tub.  Where by again she uses her toes to hold onto the end of the sponge, she can reach all over the outside of the tub as well as clean the inside walls and bottom.  Once she is satisfied, she can then turn the shower on to rinse the inside of the tub. And by replacing the cleaning fluid in the bowl with clear water rinse the outside of the tub.

The bathroom floor is last to be cleaned in this room.  Again by sitting on the chair she can with the bowl of cleaner sitting on the floor next to her start in one corner of the floor and work her way to the door cleaning the floor.  Her 
toes are pretty tired by the time she is done.  To rest her toes will do another chore.  Peggy looks at the clock, she see its time to check the dryer, for the first batch should be dry by now.

So hopping back to the hallway Peggy makes gentle hops down the hallway towards the laundry room. I can see her beautiful breasts jiggling up and down, as well as her large nipples, still very turgid from all the stimulation they have been getting, making two little tents in her dress.  This is because her dress is still damp from all the exertion from cleaning, so it clings to her chest nicely.  Peggy's leg still has a sheen of sweat and it highlights her leg's fine 
musculature and soft curves.  Her calf muscle are flexing than relaxing as she makes her gentle hops down the hall.

At the dryer Peggy bends at the waist. Her calf and thigh muscles become taut as she stretches, her desirable ruffled bottom comes into view once more. I feel so lucky to have such angel who wants to live with me.  As each delicate item of lingerie comes out, she folds it and places it neatly in a pile.  Once this is done, she again reaches for another sheet of cling free.  Her thumb and wrist delicately handle and pull the sheet out of the box and then toss it into the 
dryer.

Again she opens the Washer and pulls out each item and throws them into the dryer. Bending at the waist again, I am treated to many sights of her finely built, ruffled covered panty bottom, as well as her smooth, firm and muscled legs. Her strength and agility are very evident as she does not jiggle, as her muscles do not twitch while she is doing this, even after spending so much time cleaning, she is steady as a rock.

Setting the dial with the flat of her wrist against the dial and her thumb along the side she now places the bed cloths into the Washing Machine to be cleaned.  The colored clothes she will wait until tomorrow.  Soon this is done and she 
takes the lingerie in her wrist and thumb and places them into a basket.  This she carries against her hip and by making small hops heads toward our bedroom.  Once there she stops at her clothes chest and places the basket on top.  Opens the lingerie drawer and carefully places each delicate item in its proper place inside her drawers.

Peggy is now getting tired from her exertions and wants to relax and maybe read.  So she hops gracefully back into the living room and heads towards my position on the couch.  Once she is here, she sits on my lap, wiggles her cute little pantied half butt into my still very hard manhood and gives me a kiss.  She is still quite sweaty, so without much difficulty she manages to get me wet too.

She smiles and asks, "Oh, am I getting you wet?  Maybe you could dry me, I am so tired from cleaning I don't think I can do it."  Who am I to turn down such an offer?   So I pick her up gently by her half butt and by grabbing her around her waist deposit her next to me, I race to the bathroom were I get a towel and race back to her.  

Once I am back I kneel before her to dry her leg.  Its muscled firmness glistens with lots of moister.  I carefully dry her toes, as I do I tell Peggy how beautiful she is and how well she is taking care of our home.  "Merci! kind Sir" she says in response.  "How can I not take care of my man, someone who I know appreciates me more than anyone else ever has." she continues.  By now her toes are done and I have moved to her ankle, then her calf, and finally her thigh.  In the process I have to move her leg as I pat her wet skin dry, and am frequently treated to views of her black panty crotch, which is also quite damp looking.  This too I pat gently and I hear her groan a little as I do.  Then she 
giggles and tells me that what I am doing is not going to get her dry but will get her even wetter. I dry her empty area were part of hip and her leg used to be, being gentle, I pat her panty area until it too is dry.   I long to worship her properly but I will have to wait for I know she would be too tired to really enjoy it.  Soon I have worked my way to up to her arm were I pat and dry it also.  I also spend some time at her ample cleavage and neck to get them all dry 
too as well as her empty shoulder.  All to soon my pleasant task is completed and I sit next to her feeling like I am ready to burst. 

Peggy then sits back against the pillow and picks up a book to read, ignoring my obvious arousal and her own need.  All too soon she is engrossed in the plot, so I tell her I am going down to the store and would soon be back.  She looks up and smiles and blows me kiss.  I bend over and kiss her gently on the lips.  Then I turn and try to rearrange myself to be more presentable and head for the door.

Racing down the elevator and out into the street I walk briskly to the corner grocer to search for what I know will make Peggy's day of cleaning more enjoyable when it is completed.  Its spring and the sidewalk out side the store 
now has a wide array of flowers chose from.  I go along and pick out various kinds of flowers, ones with multi, or single flower(s) as well as some with long stems or short stems. I walk into the store with my bundle and purchase them. Once this is done I head on back to the apartment.  

Back home I place them on the table were Peggy can see them.  She loves flowers and so I know she will certainly want to spend some time to arrange them for display on our table after she has rested.

I go back to the couch, trying not to disturb Peggy, for I know she is engrossed in her book, and work on my e-mail.  I have waited too long today to deal with it.  No longer distracted by Peggy's graceful moves and displays of beauty I 
can now get them all done.   By the time I have finished and sent them, Peggy has decided she has rested enough and puts her book down.  Spying the flowers she squeals and is quickly in my lap again and I am treated to lots of kisses 
for some time.  "I love you, you know just the right things to do to show you love me," she says.  All too soon she decides its time to deal with flowers I bought her.

Peggy hops to the kitchen to get a scissors and a knife.  These she places on the floor and hops over to the glass case and pulls out a crystal vase to place the flowers in. This too she places next to the scissors and the knife on the floor. Now she places the flowers I purchased close by there too.

After grabbing her chair pillow and placing it on the floor next to the vase she sits her pretty little half bottom on the floor and the pillow.  Firmly sitting herself, she than raises her leg and stretches it over to the to flowers.  Carefully edging her toes along each flower and stem she examines each and than makes her choice. By using her big toe she maneuvers the stem so that she can place the stem between her big toe and the little toe next to it.  By squeezing 
these together she is able to pick up a flower.  Bringing her leg up and she then bends her leg towards herself carefully.  She is still seated in an up right position, balanced on the pillow and the floor so she doesn't fall to the 
side.  In this way she is able to use her thumb and wrist to work the scissors.  She can fit part of her wrist into the larger hole and her thumb in the smaller one, thus enabling her to use them for cutting.  This she now does on the stem she is holding.  Some smaller leaves along the shaft are removed also. She does each flower in turn in the same way.  Cutting each to the length she wants as well as trimming what she does not want off.   It is in this fashion she can make the flowers ready for arranging in a way that is for her very satisfactory.

One of the nice things about watching her in action is that it gives me a perfect few of her muscled calf, her soft inner thigh, as well as her warm, moist pantied crotch. I never get tired of seeing her show off like this; she does it without any effort.  There are times when we are out and she is showing off without any thought on her part and what sometimes seems to be with an appearance of not realizing she is doing so.  She makes it appear that is totally believable that she does not know.  But I know and she knows she enjoys it, for afterwards she will whisper to me what she was thinking and what she was showing off as well as what she was seeing while doing so.  

Back to the flowers, once each of the stems are done she will put her wrist down to help her turn herself towards the vase and by maneuvering her leg over to it, deposit the stem into the vase.  Each flower and stem is meticulously cut to the length she wants, all in accordance to plan she has worked out as she examined each of the flowers.  The flowers are to be arranged so that they display the most of their color, size, and variety to who ever is the viewer.

I not only get to view the vase being put to together but the nuances of each move Peggy makes.   The muscles flexing, or a jiggle or just a twitter as Peggy makes each move in her quest to present the flowers for maximum effect.  Her smooth skin, and its color are all taken in as I watch each move that she makes.  Each flower and stem are removed and replaced in different positions many time over for the next hour. Her leg and foot are in constant movement during this time.  There are many pauses to, for she wants to make sure all is correct.  With Peggy standing and moving back away from the vase to view it from a distance to see how the vase will look.  Peggy prides herself on her flower arranging.  Many of our guests have made favorable comments on this to her in the past, and its a source of pride for Peggy.

Soon a large bouquet of flowers is on display for the delight of the viewer as they burst forth from the elegant vase she picked out for them.  Peggy now stands and by making her little toes go into the carpet, she can twist her heel 
over to the side and then the toes can go over so that point towards her destination, so that she makes a forward motion, along with the bouquet and vase in her hand, towards the table.  She carefully moves the few feet to the table 
using this type of motion.  She has been very careful as she moves so as not to mess up her hard work.

Placing them on the middle of table on French lace runner she hops back a couple of feet and views her handy work.  I come up beside her also.  I congratulate Peggy on another brilliant arrangement of flowers.  She blushes and turns a 
light pink.  Turning Peggy gives me a little kiss and with "merci" whispered in my ear hops off down the hall.

By this time the sheets are done so she hops over and makes sure the cloths are dry.  She must have decided they were, for she starts to carefully bring out each piece.  She folds them neatly and makes several stacks.  Each blouse and shirt hung on a hanger of different colors.  Blue is for me, and pink is for Peggy.  Her dresses also are hung but not for long for she will have to iron each as well as some of my shirts and all of her blouses.  Soon she is done, it is time for a new dryer sheet to be placed in the dryer, as the sheets are to be dried next.  This is all quickly done, all the while giving me many views of her ample charms as she does this.

Taking the dresses and blouses as well as some of my shirts on their hangers on her thumb she places them on another hanger that is next to the ironing board.  Turning on the iron, she hops to the cupboard and pulls out a bottle of distilled water.  Placing it on the ironing board she hops back to the cupboard to get a small funnel.  This, on her return to the ironing board, she places it into the hole used to pour the water into the iron with.  Placing the funnel in 
carefully, she gets it to stay up so that she will be able to pour water into it and have it go into the iron.  She grabs the distilled water with her thumb and wrist and starts to very carefully pour the water in.  Once the iron is full, Peggy knows the iron will be just about hot enough to use.  So hopping back over to the cupboard she replaces the distilled water and hops back to do the same with the funnel.

Taking the first dress off the hook and its hanger she lays it on the ironing board.  She has several special forms that are like pillows but are to be used in ironing.  They raise the material up so she can iron it.  She grabs a large flat one which she places inside the skirt portion of the dress.  She then takes the iron between her thumb and wrist and takes several short passes over the material.  Sitting down the iron she moves the pillow to a new spot next to were she just ironed and runs the iron over that. In this way she is able to cover the whole skirt and blouse portion of the dress.  Once she is done with that pillow, she replaces it with a thinner tub like pillow that she can stuff in the sleeves to help iron them with.  The collar is more difficult but Peggy's strength and finite control of her one remaining arm and wrist muscles allow her to be able to run the iron tip over the collar and get the right effect. Once the front in done she turns the dress over and repeats the performance.  Once she has completed the dress it is turned back over and Peggy retrieves the hanger and slipping on side inside the dress opening.  First one side goes on and then the other.  She spends some time to even out the dress by sliding it back and forth on the hanger until its correct.  Then she hangs the dress on another rod on the other side of the ironing board that she uses for the finished cloths.  

Each blouse and my shirts are done in the same method.  Once they are all done and hanging she takes several in her wrist and thumb and hops gently down the hall to our bedroom where she hangs them up.  She will make many returns for another batch to hang up until all the cloths are hanging or in drawers.

By this time the sheets are done in the dryer.  She pulls one out and hopping back out into the living room she carefully unfolds it so that it is smooth.  This process is very enjoyable for lots of times her ruffled panty covered 
half butt is placed right in my face, as is her smooth muscular thigh.  All are within easy grasp of my hands.  Once the sheet is flat on the floor, she will take one corner and hop to the other corner on the same side, then she will bend 
at the waist and place the two corners together.  Hopping back to the other end she repeats this performance.  Peggy will then go around and straighten each corner.  Always giving me wonderful view of her exquisite feminine charms.  Once that is completed she will grab one end in the middle and hop to the other end and place the two ends together, straighten each up as she does.  By repeating this set of movements she will end up with a neatly folded sheet.  

She will place it on the couch and retrieve the other sheet and do the same as well as the pillowcases.  Once all are completed she will then take and place them in the bedroom closet for use later on. 

Peggy can now relax; her day of cleaning is done.  She hops to me and sits gently down on my lap.  She will nuzzle my neck and asks "Do you like the way I clean house?  Am I doing it right?"  What can I say, she is sitting right on 
the evidence that I do.  So I wiggle myself a little which cause my point to sink in even more so.  Giggling she says, "My, my I do believe you enjoy my cleaning abilities."  "Peggy darling, you are a meticulous as well as an exciting house keeper." I answer.

Mike