A Country Walk

 Note: This is a sequel to the story "An Encounter on a Train," though the author is different.  No portion is protected by copyright, and it may be freely altered and distributed so long as no one else claims credit for it.

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A Country Walk

    It may seem from what I have described so far that life with Felicia was an ongoing fashion show, sprinkled with interesting and original games.  We had met in the fall, and during the winter entertained ourselves with clothes and red-envelope games, growing fonder of each other with every passing day. As spring progressed, I was pleasantly surprised to discover Felicia's appetite for outdoor exercise.

    Not everyone may know Felicia's story. She is a lovely, tall, lean 26-year-old artist who was riding behind her brother on a motorbike three years ago when a car ran them off the road and into a stone wall. Felicia's brother was killed instantly, while she had many scrapes and bruises and a badly mangled left leg. After a year of surgeons' attempts to remove infected bone and repair damaged blood vessels and nerves, Felicia decided to have an amputation, and her leg was removed just a couple of inches below her hip. She struggled for several months with her self-concept and a prosthesis, before deciding to accept herself for the one-legged person she is, and switching to crutches full-time. I met her entirely by chance on a train from London to York a month later, and we very quickly became extremely fond of each other.

    She has became ever more confidently one-legged since our meeting, and has developed extraordinary balance. She cruises swiftly and beautifully on her crutches, and walks everywhere, unless there is ice on the footpath. Frustrated with having one or both hands occupied with crutches at home, she first learned to walk with a single axillary crutch, and later developed the habit of parking both crutches just inside the front door as soon as she enters the flat:  while bearing all her weight on her crutches, she kicks off her shoe, if it is a dress shoe, and wiggles her foot into a slipper  The crutches then go into a crutch stand I installed next to the door, and she hops everywhere.

    Hopping is actually too crude a word to describe her graceful locomotion: her arms hanging relaxed at her side, she keeps her weight on her toes as she performs a unique slightly bouncing glide from place to place, with her slipper making a rhythmic "shh-shh-shh-shh" on the bare floors.  She can carry a full tray or basket of laundry this way, though to carry full cups of tea or coffee she uses her swift heel-and-toe.    

    One Friday evening I stopped at her flat (which by then she used only as a studio) and found her deep in her closet, with a pile of rough-looking clothing next to her.  She looked up at me and smiled, then stood and gave me a long hug and kiss.  As usual, she nudged my thigh with her stump as she did so, and as usual my right hand strayed over her buttock and carressed the soft mound below it.  We unclasped, and she hopped lightly over to the closet again.

    "What are you doing?" I asked.

    "Getting ready to get back to some old activities," she replied.  "The weather is supposed to be perfect tomorrow, and I thought we ought to go for a long country walk."

    "I had completely forgotten you were an outdoors type!" I exclaimed.  Actually I felt embarrassed that I had assumed that Felicia's interest in fashion, and her amputation, precluded hiking, which I had always enjoyed very much.

    Typically, she seemed to read my mind and looked at me severely.  "What you mean is, just because I have one leg and like to look nice, you figure that I shouldn't be interested in roaming around outdoors, even if I used to be," she said.  "Actually, I did lots of walking and sailing and skiing before my accident, but I figured it was all over when I had my amputation.  But as you know, a lot of things about my perspective have changed in the last few months, and it's time to give the old favourites a try again."

    I began to pick through the mound that had accumulated outside the closet.  There was a pair of Wellington boots, a pair of stout walking shoes, a bright red Gore-Tex jacket and pants, two rucksacks, and an assortment of Ramblers Association maps and guides.  "You can just stuff that junk in the large rucksack," she called out from the closet.  "But to save space, you can leave half the shoes behind!"

    So, nine o'clock the following morning found us on a train bound for a small town in Herts, from which we would walk to another small town about six miles away, with lunch at a country pub along the way.  Felicia had chosen the route because it was one of her favorites before her amputation, and wasn't too strenuous.  

    She looked just as captivating dressed for a day in the country as she did dressed for an evening at a fine restaurant.  Her dark blonde hair was drawn back in a loose ponytail.  She wore a long red tartan shirt over a cream-colored cotton turtleneck.  Black stretch exercise pants clung to her shapely, muscular leg, with a woolen sock and stout walking shoe on her foot. She had stayed  up an extra hour amputating the extra leg of her exercise pants and carefully sewing closed the opening; the tight satiny fabric curved deliciously around her left buttock and her small nearly-hemispherical stump. Her hands, clad in bicyclist's gloves, held her adjustable aluminum elbow crutches. I carried a rucksack containing jackets, water, and snacks.

    We left the train station and strolled through the small village and out among hedged fields. It was a perfect day, with scattered puffy white clouds casting shadows over the landscape. I walked beside Felicia. Since holding hands was impractical with crutches, we had tried several ways of maintaining physical contact as we walked, and had settled on my resting my right hand on the base of her neck. Her elegant style of walking kept her crutches close to her body, and I never stumbled over them. After several minutes of walking this way along quiet country roads, Felicia stopped. "I'm warm!" she exclaimed.

    "I'm comfortable, and the weather's cool" I replied.

    "Yes, but remember that I use half again as much energy to walk as you do" she replied.  As she spoke she leaned her crutches against a fence, and balancing perfectly on her long shapely leg, she peeled off her tartan shirt and tossed it to me.  As I pushed it into the rucksack she took her crutches in hand again, and we set off. The footpath turned off the road onto a narrow track, and Felicia took the lead.

    Walking behind her was a wonderful experience, as her body moved to the alternating click of her crutches and thump of her foot.  With the click, her broad back tensed through her shirt as her arms took her weight. She then glided smoothly forward, her shoulders shrugging ever so slightly, and her wonderful leg swinging between the crutches and extending in front of her.  Then with the thump of her heel landing on the path, her shoulders relaxed and a quiver travelled up that marvelous leg, across her buttocks and through her short stump. She rose slightly on her toes as she brought her crutches forward, giving her step a lively spring. Silently I walked along, revelling in the beauty around me and moving in front of me. Presently the path turned into some woods, and Felicia stopped and turned around.

    "You're very quiet today!"

    "Actually, I've just been quietly enjoying myself," I replied. "It's a nice day, the countryside is gorgeous, and I don't know when I've seen anything as beautiful as you walking along."

    "What do you like about it expecially?" she asked teasingly.

    I thought for a moment.  "Two things, really. First, the rhythm of your walking. And second--don't be embarrassed--I just love the way your leg and bottom and stump jiggle a tiny bit when your foot hits the ground."

    She laughed her tinkling, wonderful laugh and shifted her left crutch to her right hand.  "Yes, I guess this would bounce a bit" she said, as she put her spread hand over her stump and gently compressed its soft mass.

    I stepped close to her, and put my left arm around her as my right hand glided down her back, over her right hip, and slipped beneath her hand on her stump.  She moved her left hand onto my shoulder. "That looks like fun" I whispered. "May I bounce it a bit?"  I gently pressed her stump, carefully avoiding the tender area near the outside end of the scar, and it stirred beneath my hand as we kissed long and deep.

    We parted, a bit breathless. "Oooh, I feel even warmer!" Felicia exclaimed with a little laugh. She retrieved her left crutch from her right hand, and with a smiling toss of her head headed up the path again as I followed admiringly.

    I had been wondering how she would manage on a hike, and observed her with keen interest.  Uneven ground proved no problem at all, as she stepped lightly and sure-footedly along.  She vaulted the large spring puddles easily, planting her crutches in the middle and swinging over them without so much as a dampened toe, as I splashed through or around them.  Only the stiles were awkward: she frequently could not squeeze through, around or over them with her crutches.  So I would go through first, and she would hand her crutches to me while she hopped, climbed, or vaulted the stile.

    We met few other ramblers on that early spring day, but the reactions of those we met were a treat for both Felicia and me. One-legged women are rare, beautiful young one-legged women are rarer still, and hens' teeth vastly outnumber trim, athletic, beautiful young one-legged women taking country walks.  There were many wide eyes, friendly greetings, and inquiries of polite concern ("A lot of work for you, isn't it, luv?") Most of our questionners assumed I had dragged her out on this expedition, when the opposite was closer to the truth.

    The 15th-century country pub where we stopped for lunch held the most interesting reactions of all.  The landlord recognized Felicia from her many previous trips along our route with two legs, and his eyes bulged and his jaw dropped as he beheld her plainly-displayed one-leggedness and crutches.

    "Why, Miss Stone!  My goodness!  It's been two or three years?  And oh, dear, what's happened, luv?" he stammered.

    Felicia glided to the bar, smiling. "Oh, it's all right, George.  I had a motorbike accident, is all.  My leg was badly damaged and so I had it amputated," she explained.

    George shook his head with a scowl. "What a horrible thing. And how are you getting on?"

    "Well, there have been some adjustments to make," Felicia understated, "and there have been ups and downs. But overall life is very good. Phil here is mostly responsible" she said, smiling at me. "George, meet Phil Barker. Phil, George Smith is the model country pub landlord in England's model country pub."

    We exchanged pleasantries, and George treated us to a sumptuous pub lunch, washed down (in my case) with two pints of excellent real ale.  George was most solicitous, and the other patrons kept up a steady chatter about every cousin, friend, or acquaintance who had ever had an amputation, though all were clearly impressed with Felicia's beauty and level of activity. When she rose from the table and hopped lightly off to the ladies', every eye in the room was admiring her. "Bloody 'ell," I overheard another patron mutter to George, "she's a gorgeous one, she is." We were both a bit wobbly when we ventured into the sunshine again, nearly two hours later.  After another hour or two of walking we were at the train station, and minutes later Felicia was asleep on the train, lying across the seat with her head in my lap, and my hand on her stump under her jacket.

    A cab took us to my flat from the station.  Felicia didn't pause at the door to park her crutches; instead she went straight into the bedroom, dropped the crutches clattering to the floor, and collapsed prone on the bed. "My, that was a lot of work," she murmured. "And it was a pretty short walk. I used to go at least ten miles in a day."

    I said nothing, but quietly picked up her crutches and stacked them in a corner, then pulled off her shoe and sock and gently massaged her foot.  She smiled and sighed contentedly.  I tugged at her stretch pants, and they slid off, bringing her panties with them.  I stroked her firm, muscular calf and thigh, and noted how, in this position, one could hardly tell that she had a stump at all: her left buttock curved smoothly down and around, with only a thin white scar hinting that there had once been a second leg.  My massaging hands moved from her thigh to her buttocks, and my left hand moved over her stump, as she sighed again with relaxed contentment.

    After a few moments she rolled over and sat up.  "My back and shoulders are what really need your magic touch," she said with a smile, and peeled off her shirt and bra.  She lay down on her stomach again, and I began kneading and massaging her smoothly muscular shoulders, upper arms, and back. Her years of crutch use had given her the lithe body of a swimmer, and I savored the sight and touch.

    She rolled over again after a few minutes and smiled up at me contentedly.  I ran my hand down her left side, brushing her beautiful breast, over her hip, and onto her stump.  With one finger I gently traced the fine white scar that began an inch or so from her vagina, and ran across the soft round bulk to a small dimple on the outside.  I was gentle, since a few trapped nerves made the scar sensitive, especially at the dimple.

    "What are you thinking?" she asked.

    "Oh, I'm just admiring you," I replied. "You know, it's wonderful how your whole body has become one-legged."

    "Oh?" she inquired.

    "Well, your leg and thigh are wonderfully muscular and shapely and strong," I replied. "More so than a two-legged woman's. Your back and shoulders are too. Your balance is so good one would think you'd never had a second leg, and the way you move..." I trailed off, rolling my eyes and licking my lips.

    She reached up, pulled me down, and kissed me deeply. "Time to get your nasty clothes off, and cuddle up to your one-legged lover" she whispered in my ear. Moments later we were naked together, and I enjoyed the thrilling sensation of her breasts and stump pressing against me as I kissed her deeply. Moments later we merged smoothly, and dozed in each others arms afterwards.

    I drifted to the surface to see Felicia standing next to the bed, naked with her arms above her head, stretching. Her stump was visible as a soft gentle mound which filled out the contour of her left hip, but extended only an inch or so below her crotch. When she moves it, it merely changes shape, it is so short. But I hugely enjoy feeling it heave gently against me as we hug, or stir beneath my carressing hand.

    She sensed me watching her and turned around with a gentle smile. "Ogling again!" she accused.

    "No, no. Admiring." I corrected.

    "Well, that's permitted, I suppose." She hopped smoothly around the end of the bed, a symphony of captivating movement as her wonderful full breasts, her hips, and her stump quivered in time. "I'm going to take a shower," she announced, "and I'd hate to have to face all of that cold, cruel tile and porcelain alone."

    I needed no further invitation. "I'm right behind you!" I said as I rolled off the bed, and followed her into the bathroom.

    Later that evening, we sat at the table having a late supper. Felicia was unusually quiet and seemed absorbed in thought. I cleared the dishes and brought out two mugs of coffee, sat down and decided that it was time to find out what was on her mind.

    "Oh, I don't know for sure," she said. "Today really stirred things up for meÑlots of strong and mixed-up feelings about my amputation and everything." She paused, and looked down into her coffee in silence.

    "Go on," I encouraged.

    "Well, there are lots of things," she began. "First of all, I'm really happy to have taken that walk, because it's something I really enjoy doing. It means the winter's really, truly over--and this was the first winter in a long time that I haven't been in pain. It made me feel another big step closer to my old self, if you know what I mean. Also because I thought it might stir up all these feelings I'm dealing with nowÑwhich I knew I should deal with sooner or later."

    I nodded, and quietly waited for her to continue.

    "But a lot of things made me sad and frustrated and even angry, too. Walking really is more work than it used to beÑI never got tired on a walk that long when I had two legs, and I wasn't even carrying a rucksack today. That's something that will get better as I get stronger, but it will always be more work. And then there are those damned stiles..." She shook her head and paused. "I don't know how I would have gotten though some of them without your help, but I used to be able to do those stupid things all by myself." She looked up at me, and tears were welling in her eyes. "I'm healed and recovered and not in pain anymore, but I'm not the way I used to be. Being an amputee isn't too bad," she said, "but being disabled is something I'm not used to yet."

    I reached my hand across the table toward her, but she shook her head and went on. "There's another thing," she said. "I'm a bit of an exhibitionist, and I like to be noticed, as you know. But today I felt as though I was never off stage. 'Isn't that amazing! Look at her! One leg and on a country walk! Can you imagine!'" The tears that had been welling in her eyes now ran freely down her cheeks. "It got especially awful in the pub. That's always been such a safe and comfortable place for me, but today I was an exhibit." She wiped at her eyes, and suddenly pounded the table with her fist as more tears ran down her cheeks. "Bloody hell! When I want to be noticed I dress up and walk around the city. Today I just wanted to take a quiet country walk with you. I didn't want to be a travelling bleeding sideshow!"

    I put my hand over hers, and this time she did not draw away. Instead she stood and hopped over to me, and sat in my lap with her face buried against my neck. I held her close as I felt her warm tears run down my chest. I was briefly conscious of her stump resting against my right hip, but this was not an erotic moment; it was the dark and difficult side of her being an amputee, the same trait which had brought us together and had given both of us so much pleasure. I said nothing as I held her close and gently stroked her back.  After several minutes, she picked her head up and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

    "It's so strange," she said finally. "Meeting you was the nicest thing that ever happened to me, and it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't lost my leg. And a lot of things about being one-legged have been fun. But sometimes I just get so tired of it, and really, really miss my left leg. I guess that's normal, though, right?"

    I nodded. "Remember the first day we were at James and Nicola's house? James talked to me about the ups and downs of living with an amputee, and made me very aware of the occasional downs. Thinking about it, I guess I'm surprised that there have been so few 'downs' over the last six months."

    I hugged her tightly. "You know you don't always have to be 'up' for my sake," I said. "A long time ago, we agreed to share everything. You obviously meant it, and I did too."

    She kissed my cheek, and we hugged each other tightly. I relished her closeness as I felt her warmth and smelled her hair. The depth of our attachment to each other occasionally surprised me, as it did then; but it also pleased me. Maybe it was time to be thinking in the longer term.