An Encounter on a Train - Part 4

 An Encounter on a Train - 4

    Felicia and I had met as strangers on a train, and we returned by  
train to London, but this time as friends and lovers, sitting  
together, holding hands. She slept a fair amount of the way. We'd  
sat and watched the view until it went dark, and then she leaned  
against me and put her head on my shoulder. After a while, she  
opened her eyes and sat up, her hand rubbing her neck.

    "Not happy?" I asked.

    "Happy, yes. Comfortable, no." she responded.

    I moved into the corner of the seat a little more, and held out  
my arms.

    She looked at me and smiled, "Mmm, that looks more like it!"  
she said, and with that she shucked off her shoe and curled up in my  
arms, pulling her leg up onto the seat. I put my arms about her, and  
locked my fingers together.

    "No, hold on." Felicia said, reaching down with her right hand  
and rearranging her skirt. I unlocked my hands and held them apart.  
Felicia wriggled again, then took my left hand and pushed it down.

    "Oh, I see!" I said, realizing that she was arranging matters  
so that we could both enjoy a little surreptitious hanky-panky by  
using the folds of her dress to maintain decorum.

    I felt three or four little nudges from her stump, pressed  
against my thigh, and put my hand on it.

    "I thought you'd never get there!" she teased.

    "Sorry," I said, "I guess I'm a bit slow on the uptake."

    "Not really." she answered, "I mean, the thought only just  
struck me, you know." she paused, "Different, isn't it?"

    "And very pleasantly so, too, to my way of thinking!"

    "Old rogue!" she laughed.

    We sat in silence for a while, and then I felt her breathing  
slow as she dropped off to sleep.
 

    The train arrived at Euston at some apalling hour, which by  
rights ought not to have existed in any decently regulated world. I  
think it was four-thirty, or something. Anyway, by mutual but  
unspoken agreement we both decided to pretend that it wasn't  
happening, and the easiest and quickest route to a padded,  
horizontal surface with pillows was to take a cab straight back to  
my place.

    Happily, this was accomplished without unnecessarily strenuous  
levels of consciousness, and thus it was that I awoke to a kiss from  
Felicia.

    "Coffee." she said, pushing herself out of my embrace and  
sitting up again.

    "Good idea." I echoed, "I'll go make some. In a year or two.""

    "No, dumbo. There. Beside you."

    I rolled over, sat up, and blinked at her, then at the bedside  
table. A steaming, black, huge mug of coffee stood there. "A  
strange, alien force put it there." I said.

    "I've been called a lot of things, but never a strange, alien  
force." Felicia said, laughing. "I just carried it." I looked at  
her, re-evaluating, but before I could respond, she went on, "I can,  
you know."

    "Evidently." I agreed, taking a long glorious gulp of the proof.

    Her face became a little more serious, "If we're going to live  
together, I think we'd better get one thing sorted out. I'm not  
looking for sympathy, a cushy option, or a gullible fool. Yes, I  
have only one leg, but I can do most things for myself, and if I  
really do need help, I'll ask. I want to be with you because I love  
you for what you are, not what you can do for me. But you must  
always let me carry my share of the relationship - and that includes  
the occasional cup of morning coffee."

    "I'm proud and honored that you feel that way. And I promise.  
It's just that I'm still learning what you can and can't do on  
crutches."

    "So am I." she replied, "and to be honest, I don't think I  
could have managed it before Nicola showed me how."

    "What's the secret?"

    "A single axilla-crutch." she told me, then added, "the only  
problem is, now there's one in the kitchen, and one here."

    "So what's wrong with that?" I wondered, "go back with the one  
you have, and get the other one."

    "Yes, but you'll see me!" she answered, first looking owlishly  
serious, then giggling.

    "So?"

    "Well, I'm just not very good at it yet. Not like Nicola is,  
and I don't want you to laugh!"

    "You silly old fusspot!" I smiled, "I wouldn't laugh; but if  
you'd prefer, I'll go and have my shower."

    "Yeah, maybe I'm being over-sensitive, but I hate feeling  
clumsy, and I'm still not totally sure of myself with a single  
crutch. So, yes please, you'd be an angel if you gave me a bit of  
time."

    "OK!" I said, climbing off the bed and heading for the shower.

    I'd been enjoying the feel of the water on my back for two or  
three minutes when I heard the bathroom door open.

    "Room for two?" Felicia called through the steam. She shut the  
door behind her and I heard the rattle of her crutches as she  
stacked them out of the way.

    "Sure!" I responded, sliding the shower-door back. She stood  
there, naked, crutchless, one hand lightly resting on the towel-rail  
and with a small smile on her face. "How do we do this, then?" I  
asked.

    "You don't. I do. You can just watch." she replied, and taking  
a slightly firmer grip on the towel-rail, used it to give herself  
leverage so that she could heel-and-toe herself closer to the  
shower, until she was near enough to reach in and grip one of the  
fittings inside and at the same time reach out her other hand  
towards me. Figuring out that she needed me to act as a rigid  
support I crooked my elbow and took her weight as she swung herself  
in.

    "See, easy!" she smiled, sliding the door shut behind her. I  
slipped my arm around her waist and drew her to me and we kissed  
each other as the water flowed over us, lubricating our bodies so  
that my hands seemed to move almost without conscious volition, from  
the firm roundness of her hips, over the slender curves of her waist  
and up her back to her shoulders, sometimes pausing to cup the soft  
fullness of her breasts, and all the while I was acutely conscious  
of the gentle but persistent pressure of her stump between my thighs.

    I reached for the soap and began to wash her back, and she  
started on me.

    "What about getting some handrails fitted?" I asked her, after  
we had finished washing, were out of the shower, and were drying  
ourselves.

    "Oh, yes, please!" she said enthusiastically, the added, "One  
on either side of the door, like a pair of built-in crutches."

    "OK." I promised, "Anything else?"

    "Yeah. A seat. In the corner, like the ones Nicola has."

    "Small, triangular thing? Kinda like a tractor-seat?" I  
suggested.

    "That's it. Otherwise it's damned near impossible for me to  
wash my foot, you see. Not without sitting on the floor of the  
shower, anyway."

    "Will do." I promised, holding the door for her.
 

    She'd made the first cup of coffee, so I clothed myself quickly  
then went to make breakfast while she dressed and put on her makeup.

    "Hello," I said, looking up from the mail as Felicia came in.  
She was wearing the denim miniskirt she'd worn in York, but instead  
of the bare leg and cowgirl-boot, she had chosen a shiny black  
patent thigh boot with a heel that must have been about four inches.

    "Wow!" I said, "I mean, wow!"

    "I thought you'd like it." she said, looking pleased, and  
seating herself. She stretched her leg out and looked down at it,  
then flicked a glance at me from under her brows. "Does shiny black  
gear turn you on?"

    "That boot does, for sure."

    "Mmm." she said, noncommittally, and reached for a piece of  
toast.

    "Is that from Nicola?" I asked.

    "Mmmph." she affirmed, her mouth full, proceeding when she  
could, "James bought them for her. It. The one she needed, I mean.  
She told me that she didn't want to wear it, at first, and that when  
she finally tried it on, she was rather surprised to find that not  
only did she not mind wearing it, but that she really quite liked it."

    "And now you can see what she means?"

    "Well, there's the difference that I don't share her hesitancy  
about wearing something like this, but the liking it, that I can  
quite understand."

    "Go on." I prompted her.

    "Well, I mean, if you wanted me to wear something, I'd try it.  
In fact, I'd probably try it before you could buy me whatever it  
was, because I've always enjoyed experimenting with different styles  
and ideas. So, do you have any suggestions?"

    "Not immediately, no. But if that's how you feel, I'll tell you  
as soon as any come to me. But to go back a step, what's the nice  
bit about wearing a boot like that?"

    She shrugged, "Hard to put into words. I know it makes you look  
at my leg, and it makes me more aware that I only have one, and that  
turns you on and that turns me on so I just feel sexier, mostly, and  
I like it."

    "Well, I ain't arguing." I responded with emphasis, "You  
certainly look incredibly sexy to me."

    "More than usually?" she probed, looking impish.

    "Differently. You'd be sexy in a burlap sack."

    She mimicked extreme puzzlement. "Now is that is, or is that  
ain't, a compliment?"

    "I better get on. Benighted clients." I said, standing up.  
"What about you?"

    "Can you come over and pick me up from my place, later?" she  
replied, "I want to bring some stuff over here, and it might be an  
idea if I took some basics of yours over to mine. Shall I?"

    "Why don't I just bring over the suitcase I took up to York?  
It's still packed, and most of it's unworn. But don't you bother, I  
can bring it over when I come to collect you."

    "Good idea. That sounds fine. I'll see you later, then." she  
put her arms up and pulled me down to kiss her. I could still feel  
the traces of her lipstick as I walked down the street to the  
underground station.
 

    By the time I drew up in front of Felicia's block and parked  
the car, I had several ideas for styles and so on, and I was  
eager to put them to her. I rang her bell and felt a rising sense of  
excitement as I saw her shadow under the door and heard the soft  
syncopated sound of her crutches alternating with her footstep, and  
then the door opened and she was there.

    We fell into each others' arms as though we'd been apart for a  
thousand years, and it was some time before my hands became aware  
that she was clothed entirely in incredibly soft, supple leather.

    I drew back, my arms on her shoulders and looked her up and  
down. She cocked her head on one side, awaiting my reaction.

    I wasn't sure I ought to credit what my eyes saw. She wasn't  
wearing leather, but some kind of fabric which clung and moved even  
more sensuously. The outfit made out of this stuff was a miniskirt  
that was so short it barely qualified as more than a wide belt,  
coupled with a kind of bolero jacket. On her leg was a black  
stocking of the kind that has a shine to it, and a high-heeled  
ankle-boot.

    God, she looked good! I drew her towards me and let my hand  
slide over her adorable body. "I think I have my answer", she  
smiled, her own hand reaching down in search of the proof of my  
opinions.

    "Good day?" she inquired.

    "Neutral."

    "Booze or caffeine?"

    "Vitamin C, if you have any. Preferably orange."

    "Sure!" she said, adjusting her crutches and heading to the  
kitchen. I followed, enjoying watching her.

    "This is what I meant when I asked you if you liked shiny black  
gear, this morning." she said, as she opened the fridge and took out  
a bottle of OJ. "I guess you do." she added, pouring and handing me  
a glass.

    "I've had a few ideas." I told her after taking a long pull at  
the juice.

    "Oh goody!" she exclaimed, "Like what?"

    "Well, one of them was a miniskirt." I said, "but I think we  
can take that as given!" I added, looking at her. She gave a kind of  
coquettish wiggle to her hips and grinned. "So what else, then?"

    "Black lacy stocking - with almost anything."

    "OK, and?"

    "Riding gear?" I said, putting a query into my voice.

    "You mean a habit, or those ultra-tight jodhpurs?

    "Jodhpurs. And a boot."

    "OK, as long as you don't want me to get on a real horse."

    "Why?"

    "I hate riding. Always did, even as a teenager, when all my  
friends seemed to think of nothing else. I can, or could, but I  
never enjoyed it."

    "Me too, to be honest."

    "Any more ideas?" she asked.

    "I like split skirts."

    "I know what you mean. I have quite a few like that, in fact."

    "High heel, of course."

    "Oh, come on!" she exclaimed, "Don't you think I know that? I  
mean, when have you even seen me not wearing a high heel? Be more  
adventurous!"

    "OK. How about a skin-tight ankle-length cheong-sam, split to  
the waist?"

    "That's better." she said, approvingly, and added, "But which  
side should be split - I mean, d'you want it to show off my leg, or  
my missing bit?"

    "What about both. One of each, that is."

    "Fine." she agreed. "More, more!"

    "Erm." I responded. I was beginning to run out of ideas.  
"Uniforms?" I suggested, on the spur of the moment.

    "Fancy being arrested by a one-legged policewoman?" Felicia  
giggled, and added, "Why not? It might be fun, kind of playing  
dressing up games for grown-ups, in a way! What about a one-legged  
secret-agent?"

    "That's not a uniform!" I protested.

    "Yes it is!" she maintained, "You have to wear a very sexy,  
revealing dress, lots of jewelry, and a trench-coat with the collar  
pulled up! I've seen it in the movies! And you have to shpeak vis a  
furny foowrin akzent, alzo. And you say things like, 'Kom vis mi - I  
hef ze planss', and 'Oh, Herr Professor, you are zo cleffer. I don'  
know vot you vill sink off next!' And then the secret agent seduces  
the professor and gets him to spill the beans. That's what the sexy  
dress is for. Then she hides the stolen plans in a secret  
compartment in one of her crutches, and makes her getaway to the  
submarine that's been sent to meet her off some lonely shore in  
Scotland."

    I laughed, leaned over and kissed her.

    "Mmmm. I've missed you." she said and melted into my arms.

    "So what do you want to take back to the other place?" I asked,  
some time later.

    "It's all in the bedroom." she answered, and reached for her  
crutches. I walked past her and paused in the doorway, "Bathroom?" I  
inquired.

    "Second door on the left."

    The bedroom was next to the bathroom, and Felicia was standing  
in the center of it when I came out, looking down at three suitcases  
and a couple of large cardboard boxes. "Is that lot okay?" she asked.

    "It'll fit in the car, if that's what you mean."

    "Well that's one part. But you don't mind me importing myself  
like this, do you?" she sounded almost timid.

    I went over and put my hands on her shoulders. "Listen, you and  
I have decided stick together, so whatever you need to have over at  
the other place is what you need. I'll have what I need here. I goes  
both ways. And I want you to share your life with me." I bent and  
kissed her, then drew back a little. "Partners." I smiled, holding  
up my right hand. She put her own right hand in mine in the briefest  
of handshakes, then buried the handshake between our bodies as she  
hugged me. "Partners." she echoed.

    "What have you got, anyway?" I asked her a moment or two later.

    "Clothes, a few books, usual stuff. I haven't picked out shoes,  
because I thought you might like to make suggestions." She moved  
over to the closet and slid back the door to reveal a full  
shoe-rack. "See, all the high-heels you could want!"

    "And not a pair among 'em, at first glance." I commented.

    "Actually, there are a couple of pairs. Down at the bottom -  
but they're flatties."

    "Oh yes, so there are." I saw, "for wearing your leg?" I  
guessed.

    "Bloody thing." she commented, and looked up at me. "Would you  
like to have a look at it?" adding before I could reply, "In fact,  
I'll put it on, if you want. Would you like to see what I look like  
with two legs?"

    "Now that you're suggesting it, I would. I think it would add a  
little extra to the one-legged you, if you can follow me."

    "Okay, let's play a little game. You wait in the sitting-room,  
and get ready to be - oh, let's say, a man who works for a big  
company, who's been ordered to meet the Owner, a secretive person  
known only as E.M."

    "Alright." I agreed.

    I walked down the hall, past the kitchen into the living-room,  
and shut the door behind me. I decided that I didn't know why I had  
been given this instruction, and so I was somewhat nervous, but  
reasonably calm because I had no immediate reason to suspect that I  
might be in trouble.

    I decided I would probably look at the bookshelves as a way of  
avoiding looking apprehensive. I was engaged in this when the door  
opened an a young woman came in. She was in her early twenties, slim  
and very attractive, dressed in a knee-length light gray skirt and a  
cream silk blouse.

    "Oh, hello," I said, "I'm David Adams, I was told to meet Mr.E.
M."

    "That's right, did they tell you what this is about?"

    "No, just that I was to be here at seven."

    "Would you like a drink?" she asked, holding up a decanter.

    "Please. A tonic, with ice."

    She held the glass out to me. "Will he be long, d'you think?"

    "She." the girl replied, adding, "and no, I'm here."

    "Oh, Lord!" I said, appalled at treating the Owner like some  
secretary. "I'm dreadfully sorry. I thought you must be a personal  
assistant."

    "Hum." E.M. replied, looking at me. A small friendly smile was  
on her lips. "Why do you suppose that I keep such a low profile? I  
inherited this lot, and as long as no-one knows that the Almighty  
Boss is a silly little strip of a girl, they take my company  
seriously. There's plenty of people out there who would try to take  
the company off me, if they knew who I was, and whilst I don't think  
they'd find it easy, none of us need the complications. It wouldn't  
help me do my job, nor my employees do theirs."

    She had seated herself in one of the chairs, indicating with  
her hand that I should sit, too.

    "I suppose you know that I'm in Security. I don't have much  
contact with that side."

    "No, that's right. And that's why I wanted to speak to you. You  
see, there's one other small detail which is easier to handle if I  
remain incognito. The reason I felt that you might be the right man  
for the job I have in mind is concerns your sister-in-law, Nicola."

    "Nicola? There's nothing about her that has anything to do with  
my job, as far as I know. In fact, I'm not even sure she knows what  
I do."

    "Oh, she does!" E.M. laughed, "When she said that one of her  
relations worked for us, I looked up your file, and told her."

    "I still don't understand." I said.

    "Well, let's put it another way. What's the most striking thing  
about your sister-in-law?"

    "She has one leg. But so what?"

    "So do I." E.M. said. Involuntarily I looked down at her legs,  
then quickly averted my gaze.

    "As you see," E.M. went on, "I wear an artificial leg."

    "So where do I come in?"

    "I need someone very discreet, who has some experience of being  
with a one-legged woman, because I'm starting to think that Nicola  
might be right, and that I might find life easier on crutches, as  
she does."

    "So how can I help?"

    "The point is, if my competitors knew that their main rival was  
not only headed by a girl, but a one-legged girl, they'd be at our  
throats in seconds. I cannot afford that, but equally, I don't think  
I can stand wearing this thing a day longer. I want you to help me  
maintain the secret of my identity, and let me do it without having  
to endure this." she tapped her left knee, which made a hollow  
knocking sound.

    "Sounds straightforward enough." I responded. "May I make a  
suggestion?"

    "Of course."

    "Why not start now?"

    "Take my leg off?" She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Perhaps  
I should." she finally said. "Yes. I should try it, I suppose."

    "No, I mean right now. If you don't like wearing it, take it  
off."

    E.M. looked at me for a second, "Alright. Why not. But would  
you go and get me a pair of crutches, please?" she made a move to  
get up.

    "Of course. Where should I look?" I stood and went over to the  
door, "And what kind would you prefer?"

    "There's a pair in the kitchen, next door. Those will do for  
the moment."

    I went out, found a pair of aluminum elbow-crutches where she  
had said they would be, and came back. E.M. had removed her leg and  
had leaned it against the arm of the chair, beside her.

    "Thank you." she said as I passed the crutches to her, "would  
you put my leg away, too, please? Just leave it in the kitchen,  
where you found these."

    I picked up the leg, feeling the cold hardness of the lower  
part contrasting with the warmth remaining in the socket, imparted  
by her stump. It felt strange, and oddly exciting, to be carrying  
something which looked like a slim female leg dressed in a stocking  
and shoe, but which felt like a piece of machinery, and which both  
was and was not a part of my lover.

    When I returned it was evident that the game was over, because  
Felicia said "So what do you think of me with two legs?"

    I sat down beside her, "Beautiful, but not special and  
different, like this one, the one with one leg. She's the one I  
want! But I liked the game."

    "You're quite good at it, too." she remarked, sounding  
approving.

    "Thank you. So are you." I returned, "It's like improvised  
acting, in a way, isn't it. I mean, we have to read each other's  
leads and suggestions."

    "You know," Felicia said thoughtfully, "we ought to work out  
some kind of code or signal to tell each other when there's a game  
in the offing."

    "How about leaving a red envelope containing the essential  
instructions just inside the door, for each other to find when we  
come home?"

    "That's a good idea!" she agreed, "As long as we can find some.  
Red envelopes, I mean."

    "No problem. I have a stack of them."

    "Red? How come?"

    "From when I was in Hong Kong. The Chinese use them for all  
kinds of special occasions, from sending prayers and messages to the  
ancestors to holding fake money to burn at funerals, to holding real  
money to be given as a birthday or wedding-present. Red's a special  
color, as you may gather."

    "OK, then. A red envelope it is." she confirmed, then went on,  
"I'm really looking forward to this!"

    "So," I said, standing up, "shall we go and check out shoes?"

    Felicia smiled, picked up her crutches and stood. "Alright,  
let's do that."

    I paused in the hallway and waited for her. "Shall I bring your  
leg back, too?"

    "Oh, yes please, darling." she answered, giving me a quick peck  
on the lips before continuing down the hallway. I went to fetch it  
and took it into the bedroom. Felicia looked up as I came in. "Just  
stash it in the back of the closet, there." she pointed.

    "Don't you want to take the shoe and stocking off?"

    "Nah." she said, "I never bother."

    I put the leg in the place she'd indicated, then turned to look  
at the shoe-rack.

    "See any you particularly fancy?" Felicia asked. She reached in  
and picked up a smart maroon knee-length boot and held it up. "How  
about this? It's one of my favorites, and it goes rather well with  
a split skirt!"

    "Mmm, yes, I like the sound of that!" I agreed.

    We spent the next few minutes going through her collection of  
shoes, picking out shoes I liked until she reminded me that she had  
a suitcase full at the other flat already, the ones she had been  
given by Nicola, so we decided that we'd leave it at that.

    "What about some crutches?" I asked, "Won't you need a  
selection of those, too?"

    "I hadn't forgotten." she said, but went on, "But there's three  
pairs there. That'll do until my new ones come."

    "Now that, I'm looking forward to!" I said, warmly.

    Felicia laughed, "Betcha I'm looking forward to it more'n you!"

    "Betcha you ain't!"

    "Betcha I am!"

    "OK, three back-scratches says I am!" I challenged her.

    "You're on." she giggled, "But how are we going to know who's  
won?"

    "I dunno." I smiled, picking up two of the suitcases and  
heading for the door. I carried them downstairs and stashed them on  
the back seat, leaving space in the trunk for the boxes and the  
third suitcase.

    When I re-entered the flat, I found that Felicia had somehow  
managed to maneuver the suitcase to the front door, and was in the  
process of doing the same to one of the boxes, by pushing it in  
front of her as she knelt on the floor, balancing on her knee.

    I stood and watched for a moment. "I see what you mean, about  
just working things out." I said, after pause.

    "Yeah." she said, looking up, "but this, I begin to think, is  
one of those times when I might be wise to ask for a little  
assistance. I mean, I'll get it there, eventually, but it'd be  
quicker for you to move it."

    Felicia held doors for me on the way up to our other flat,  
(mine, that is) whilst I carried the two heaviest suitcases, which I  
took into the bedroom. I made three more trips for the two boxes and  
the final suitcase, and put those with the others, then went to find  
what she was doing. I heard noises from the kitchen.

    "Beef casserole?" she said brightly as I entered.

    "Sounds amazing. Where did that come from?"

    "Off a cow." she answered helpfully. Then relented, "Actually,  
I found a slow-cooker in the cupboard, which it looks like you'd  
never even used."

    "Oh, that. Yes, I bought it a couple of years ago, because it  
sounded convenient, but as you figured out, I've never got round to  
learning to use it."

    "Well, it's a good thing I do, then, isn't it?" she laughed.

    I uncorked a bottle of wine, while she filled our plates, then  
sat waiting while I fetched some glasses. I poured for her. "To us!"  
she said, lifting her wine-glass. I picked mine up and returned her  
toast. "To us."

    I'd not forgotten our discussions of the morning, and during  
the day I'd made a trip to a hardware store, finding exactly the  
kind of thing I wanted in the form of a door-handle, so after dinner  
I fetched my electric drill and set about fixing them, borrowing one  
of Felicia's crutches and using that to give me some idea of the  
proper height.

    I found Felicia standing behind me, when I switched off. "You  
are an angel." she remarked, leaning against the doorpost and  
looking down at me.

    "Well, I promised, didn't I?"

    "Sure, but this is still pretty good service, I reckon."

    "Thanks, but I only managed to get the handgrips. The  
seat-thing may take a little longer."

    "Oh, that's easy!" she said, cheerfully, explaining, "Nicola  
gave me the address of the place that supplied hers. I'll ring them  
in the morning."

    "Fine." I agreed.

    "I'm going to go and unpack." Felicia announced, pushing  
herself upright and adjusting her crutches.
 

    Whilst I'm not particularly keen on fostering ludicrous  
superstitions, I couldn't help feeling that the ease and lack of  
complications we encountered in joining our lives together was some  
kind of good omen for the future. The basic arrangement was that  
Felicia maintained her studio in her flat, using that as her  
workplace, coming back most evenings to my place, in which I kept my  
own business-affairs.

    Sometimes, especially if she was working late, I would go over  
there, cook a meal and we'd spend the night.

    All in all, we fitted together like whatever you think of as  
fitting together well - key in a lock, hand in a glove, you know.  
But don't think that we started to lose the sense of excitement.

    I'd had few preconceptions about what living with her would be  
like, preferring to let reality provide the answers. However,  
despite James's remarks, I certainly hadn't bargained for the deluge  
of novel aspects to familiar situations that she could induce, if  
she chose.

    Felicia didn't get parking tickets, and after my first  
experience of her procedure for evading them, I could quite see why.  
She wasn't stupid in her parking, and put a fair amount of effort  
into finding legal spaces, but if none were available, or  
insufficiently nearby, she would park in the best place she could.  
Naturally, this was frequently a taxi-rank, loading-bay or something,  
and someone often protested.

    In such cases, Felicia would make a real performance out of  
getting her crutches out and standing up, all the while totally  
ignoring the protester. When she was standing, and the car door was  
shut and locked, she would turn and smile sweetly at them, and say  
that she was so sorry, but she was sure they'd understand what a  
problem things were, being as how..., and she'd tail off, looking  
down at her foot.

    The protester, of course, would be hopelessly devoid of any  
reasonable response except to agree with her, to which she'd smile  
again, but say nothing. After a moment or two the poor victim,  
whoever he was, would invariably find himself offering to look after  
her car, and to explain to any policemen or traffic-wardens,  
pointing out the 'Disabled' badge which was one of Felicia's only  
concessions to being anything other than completely unexceptional in  
all respects.

    I'm not exactly sure how I would describe her opinions upon  
clothes, however. Not that I was complaining; on the contrary, I  
thoroughly enjoyed the constant kaleidoscope of different outfits  
she wore. The point is, that her attitude was in some respects no  
more than that of an attractive woman who likes looking glamorous,  
but in others she displayed the definite and overt intention of  
actively accentuating her one-leggedness. Now is that a concession  
to being anything other than completely unexceptional in all  
respects, or is it not?  

    Her usual style of dressing was a combination of romantic, and  
sexy, for example, a lacy white blouse pulled tight over her boobs,  
and a flowery, frilly skirt. She often wore a very sheer  
dark-colored stocking, sometimes with a seam, and liked unusual  
footwear, such as an ankle-boot; rather the way Stevie Nicks dresses.

    She had, she assured me, always been pretty style-conscious,  
but said that since she her amputation, she had also become very  
well-informed on tailoring, which she maintained was essential for  
any young woman who was one-legged.

    "After all," she explained, "most clothes aren't designed to be  
worn by someone who uses crutches all the time. I have to make sure  
that some of the seams are double-stitched, for a start....the ones  
that using crutches put sunder extra strain, because I've discovered  
that most fashion-clothes just can't handle it. Not only that, but  
if I think I might wear an outfit with axilla-crutches, I'll put an  
extra pad under the arm. To stop sweat-marks. Not to mention which,  
clothes are designed to flatter a girl who has two legs. If you only  
have one leg, like me, and you want to make a feature of that, then  
the whole cut has to change. That's another of the good points about  
being one-legged...it gives me more choices for dressing up!"

    The result was that I found myself living in what had, until I  
had met Felicia, always seemed an impossible dream, that of living  
with a beautiful, sexy, one-legged style-queen, and best of all, one  
who enjoyed living with me.

    I wouldn't want you to get the impression that living with a  
one legged girl was some kind of sybaritic paradise. Mostly it was  
completely unexceptional, in that it made absolutely no difference  
whether she had one leg or two. Any high points were the result of a  
deep affection, concern, and respect for one another, attention to  
moods, forbearance, and just plain love. We didn't take each other  
for granted, and remembered to tell each other.  

    But as for her being an amputee, that simply didn't affect the  
ordinary mechanics of our lives. We kept house, cooked, cleaned,  
lived and worked just like everyone else. Yes, when we went out, I'd  
open doors for her, but I'd have done that anyway. Occasionally I'd  
help her with her crutches, but I would have done so with an  
umbrella - there wasn't much difference. And when it rained, I did  
hold an umbrella.

    Our games, and much else besides, were choices. It was a way of  
making what we had special, and since Felicia had one leg, and that  
was something I liked about her, that was something we could use.  
But if she'd been different, we would have employed some other  
aspect.  

    One of the things I came to enjoy about being with Felicia was  
her unashamed pleasure at provoking a reaction from people. In a  
kind of outdoor version of our games, we had gathered quite a  
collection of places or situations which offered better  
opportunities, and buying shoes, in particular, had proved so  
effective that we frequently used it. This may not be too  
surprising, since Felicia tended to choose the most eye-catching  
shoes whenever she got a chance, and as it became evident to the  
viewers that Felicia was deliberately drawing attention to her  
one-leggedness, we were often treated to unconsciously delivered  
revelations about just who was and was not unusually excited by her  
display. Confirmation only waited for us to leave and see if anyone  
followed us.
 

    She wasn't always cheerful, though, and occasionally even her  
naturally-sunny disposition gave way under the strain of living her  
life with only one leg.

    "I've learned to be pretty thick-skinned towards tactless and  
insensitive remarks," she explained, one evening about two weeks  
after we'd met, "but I guess I just don't know how to react when  
people laugh at me."

    "Did somebody?" I asked in surprise, passing her a glass of  
juice.

    "Yeah." she answered sourly. I waited for her to continue.  
"Some loud-mouthed young louts." she finally said.

    "Did they give you any trouble?" I asked, worried for her  
safety.

    "No, not really. They just kept pointing at me and saying  
stupid things, then they'd all fall about laughing."

    I hmmmed sympathetically. I knew she just needed to let it out  
in her own time. "They weren't even funny, either." she added, after  
a moment. "One of them said that playing footsie wouldn't be half as  
much fun, for example, and they thought that was desperately witty."

    "Little do they know." I murmured, "Playing footsie with you is  
treble the fun."

    She looked up and smiled briefly at me. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't  
be sitting here whining like this."

    "You aren't whining. You're just pissed off at some stupid,  
ill-mannered oiks. But I bet you they'll have been just as annoying  
to lots of other girls."

    "Yeah, but - " she paused, "well, I just don't seem able to  
handle it when I think that someone is laughing at me because I have  
one leg. Almost any other reaction I can deal with, but not that. I  
mean, it isn't funny, whatever else it may or may not be."

    "If you read psychology texts, you'll find that laughter is  
often a cover for some other, possibly unacceptable, emotion." I  
said, adding, "It's probable that one of them, at least, found you  
sexually attractive, but rather than have his 'mates' ridicule him  
for his 'perverse' interests, he became the most vocal in his  
ridicule of you."

    "Hum." she said, looking a little more cheerful, "I'll have to  
think about it. I have an inkling that may give me a way to tackle  
it."