An Encounter on a Train - Part 5

 An Encounter on a Train - 5

    It soon became quite natural to be with Felicia rather than  
apart from her, but that isn't to say that it was all sweetness and  
light. We had our spats, the occasional argument, moody days, and so  
on, just like anyone else does, sometimes it was me, sometimes it  
was her.

    But thanks to our frequent game-playing episodes, always I  
found that my return from work each evening was given a delicious  
spice either by the knowledge that I had left a red envelope for  
Felicia in the morning, or that I might find one waiting for me just  
inside the door. This didn't happen every evening; twice or three  
times a week, on average, not often enough to become tedious, but  
calculated to keep both of us amused and interested in each other.

    To most outsiders, I daresay a verbatim description of one of  
our games would sound more than a little juvenile or naive, but you  
have to remember that we were playing these games purely for our own  
amusement, and details which would seem trivial or irrelevant to  
others held deeper significance for us.

    One of our better ones, which we found was worth repeating, we  
called 'Bequilla Escort Agency'. In fact, it became such a regular  
that, before long, just the initials B.E.A. on a card in the red  
envelope was all we needed to initiate the game.

    Having given or finding one of these, I would leave for work,  
and at some convenient point in the day, I would find a convenient,  
secluded telephone, and make a call to Beqilla's Escorts.

    "Good morning/afternoon," I would say, "is that Bequilla's  
Escort Agency?"

    "Yes, sir," the receptionist would answer, "how can I help you?"

    "Well, I'm here on business (or whatever), and I was hoping you  
could provide me with a little company for the evening."

    "Of course, sir." the receptionist would reply, "We have a  
large selection of very attractive girls on our lists at quite  
reasonable rates. But we also cater to a somewhat more specialized  
clientele, at rather higher costs, of course."

    "Er, yes," I would reply, somewhat hesitantly, "so I was told.  
Could you explain what this special, er, well, you know, what..." I  
would tail off.

    "It depends on what you might be looking for, sir. If you'd  
tell me what kind of girl you'd like to meet, I can tell you whether  
we can assist you."

    "Oh, I see." I'd say, "Well, I've always wanted to meet a girl  
with one leg. Would that be possible?"

    "Yes, that's no problem. We have several girls like that. And  
you're lucky, too - one of our most popular one-legged girls just  
called in to say that she would be available."

    "Could you describe her?"

    "Oh, she's very attractive, blonde, slim about five-seven. Her  
name's Selina/Susan/whatever. Would you like me to make a booking  
for you?"

    "Yes, please."

    "And where would you like to meet?" the receptionist would ask.  
I would then select some restaurant, wine-bar or hotel-lobby, or  
even a railway-station on occasions, and specify a time.

    "Oh, one final thing," the receptionist would say, "you won't  
have any trouble recognizing your date - she'll be using crutches,  
and she'll make sure that you can see them, if she arrives early."

    I would then ring off, complete the preparations by making any  
bookings at restaurants which might be required, and after whatever  
intervening period there might be, arrive at the appointed time and  
place.

    'Susan' would, as promised, be sitting with her crutches  
displayed in such a way that I couldn't miss them, and I would walk  
up and introduce myself as her client. I'd buy her a drink, if that  
was appropriate, or suggest that we go straight in to eat, and we  
would proceed to act as though we were getting to know each other.  
This was where the best part of the game came, for me, at least,  
because she seemed to have an almost inexhaustible imagination, and  
when we steered the talk to the subject of one-legged girls, I was  
usually able to just sit back and enjoy the fantasy she would spin  
for me, doing no more that interject the occasional remark or  
respond to simple questions.  

    For example, my escort for the evening 'Susan' arrived before  
me, and as promised was sitting with her crutches visible. Her hair  
was short and dark, (a wig, this time), and she was dressed in a  
jumper. Involuntarily, my eyes looked lower, and saw only a single  
leg, perched on a pretty little foot. I looked up, and found her  
smiling slightly.

    "You seem very interested in my leg."

    I looked up, startled. I confess, I had been staring. "Oh, I'm  
sorry."

    "Oh, don't be silly...I'm used to it!" she smiled, "Are you  
Phil, my escort for the evening?" The waiter came over and I ordered  
some drinks.

    "How did you hear of the agency?" Susan asked, when we had been  
shown to our seats in a small French restaurant.

    "I looked in the phone-book." I replied.

    "Really?" she exclaimed, "Most of our clients come through  
being told about us by friends of theirs who know of us. I thought  
you would be the same."

    "No, I guess I just struck lucky!"

    Susan laughed, "I guess you did. I mean, when the office told  
me that someone had called and asked for an amp, I just assumed you  
knew that our agency is the only one in London which had what you  
wanted."

    "Is it?"

    "Certainly. In fact there's only one other I've ever heard of,  
and that's only a rumor, and a fifty year old one, at that. Buenos  
Aires, in the late twenties, apparently." she explained.

    "What did you say I rang up and asked for?"

    "An amp. An amputee." Susan replied, "I guess you probably  
asked for a one-legged girl, when you rang up, but amongst  
themselves, one-legged girls usually describe each other as amps."

    "How many amps work for this agency?"

    "Seven, sometimes eight or nine. Depends who's taking a break."

    "And they're all as attractive as you?"

    "They're all good-looking, but I'm not going to say who's  
better than who!" Susan laughed.

    "And all one-legged?" I was overwhelmed by the thought.

    "Not every one. There's two one-armed girls."

    "But apart from those two, you all use crutches?"

    "Usually, yes. Unless a client asks otherwise, that's usually  
what he prefers. Why, do you have a strong preference? I mean, I  
know you wanted a one-legged girl, but would you have preferred me  
not to be on crutches?"

    "No, not at all. I think you look very smart as you are."

    "Oh, good." Susan said, looking relieved. "To tell you the  
truth, I'll wear my leg if the client wants me to, but I'd much  
rather not. I'm most comfortable using crutches."

    "Well, I think you look very nice on them, too." I said,  
banally. "How long have you been working there? And how did you  
start?"

    "Two years. And I started the job about a year after I lost my  
leg. I used to be a model, you see, and of course, I couldn't do  
that anymore, so I was at something of a loose end. Then one day I  
saw these two gorgeous girls in a shoe-shop. I was amazed to see  
that not only had one girl lost the right leg, but the other had  
lost her left, and because they both took the same size shoe, they  
could share pairs, which is what they were doing. Of course, I  
couldn't resist introducing myself, even though I was wearing my leg  
at the time."

    "Go on."

    "At first, all I intended was to ask them whether they had met  
accidentally, or whether there was some partner-matching service,  
but you know how it is, one thing led to another, and the upshot of  
it was that these two girls told me that they had met through  
working for this agency, and then they persuaded me to come for an  
interview."

    "End of story?" I asked.

    "Not quite." she replied, "I went for the interview, and met  
some of the other girls, including most of the other amputee-girls.  
They all seemed to be happy about the way the agency was run, and  
the work they were asked to take on, but even so, I wasn't sure  
about the idea. They explained, of course, that most of the time I  
would be asked to use crutches, and the amp-girls told me what sort  
of things my clients would like me to talk about, and I didn't have  
much concern about those, and similar details. It was the overall  
idea which made me hesitate. But then Chantelle, she's a French  
girl, one of the amps, put me straight, and after a couple of days,  
I joined up."

    "And what do you think I might like you to talk about?" I  
prompted her.

    She didn't answer directly, but replied with a question, "Is  
this the first time you've spent an evening with a one-legged girl?"

    "It is, actually."

    "So, is it anything like you expected?"

    "I'm not sure what I expected, to be honest."

    "Didn't you have a mental picture of me. I did of you. Though  
you're handsomer than I expected."

    "Thank you for the compliment." I smiled, adding, "yes, I  
suppose I did have a mental image of you. The reality's more  
satisfying, though."

    "I wish I'd known this was your first booking, though," she  
mused, continuing, "I usually try to put on something special, in  
those cases."

    "Such as what?"

    "Well, I would have worn a higher heel, for one thing, and  
probably a slightly more revealing skirt, so that you could see a  
bit more of my leg. I try to make my leg the most memorable feature  
of a guy's first outing with me, since that's why he's booked me."

    "What do you do for the second date?" I asked, interestedly.

    "That depends on the first date." she laughed.

    "You said that the French girl put you straight," I asked her,  
remembering something she had said earlier, "how do you mean?"

    "Oh, I had been wondering whether it was really no more than a  
kind of front for what's called a 'vice' by some people, and which,  
in some cases is precisely that. A brothel." she explained.  
"Chantelle persuaded me that my fears were totally unfounded, and  
that no pressure was ever put on a girl to do anything she didn't  
want to do. In other words, that sexual services were not part of  
the contract with a client."

    Her phrasing was more severe than her tone, so I asked  
suggestively, "Never?"

    "Well, not unless I want to, and I am fed steak tartar and  
pink champagne!" she giggled.

    "What does Chantelle look like? In fact tell me what all the  
other girls look like." I asked, intrigued by the thought of several  
other attractive amputee girls.

    "She's tall, and sort of blonde." she replied, then inquired,  
"but there's dozens of girls at the agency; I suppose you mean the  
amputees?" I nodded affirmatively. "And I imagine you'd want to know  
what kind of amp, as well?" I nodded again, and she continued,  
"Well, she's lost her left leg below the knee. Then there's Sarah,  
she has no right arm, but thank heavens she's left-handed. She's  
small, very curvy, dark. Her arm's off almost at the shoulder. Rhea  
is very beautiful, tall and slender with rich copper colored hair  
which she keeps tied up in a thick ponytail. Her skin is smooth, and  
unlike many redheads isn't pale and freckled, but a lovely creamy  
tone...she hasn't even the smallest trace of a stump. Her left side  
simply doesn't have an arm, and the result is a smoothly rounded but  
totally empty shoulder instead." she went on, "Let me see, there's  
Wendy - she lost her leg in a mountain-climbing accident. She fell,  
and a rock landed on her leg and crushed it. They rushed her to  
hospital, and then amputated it. Then there's Maria. She was born  
without her right leg."

    "That's unusual. But I bet she's pretty expert on crutches, if  
she's used them all her life."

    "Yes...she puts all the rest of us to shame."

    "Who else is there?" I prompted, intrigued and thirsty for more.

    "There's Dawn...she's a real tease. She always has plenty of  
attention. She's another of the girls who are shoe-partners. Her  
name's Sarah."

    "What does Dawn do? To tease, I mean?"

    "Oh, she's always talking about having one leg, and playing  
with her stump - she always sits so that you can see it. Things like  
that."

    "Why was her leg amputated?"

    "A car-accident. That's the most common reason. And because I  
know you're going to ask, she was fifteen."

    "It sounds as though she almost gets a thrill out of having one  
leg." I commented.

    "Oh, she does. She says she never realized how much fun it  
could be."

    "You mean, she enjoys it?" I asked, my heart hammering.

    "Well, why shouldn't she?" returned Susan, adding, "As she  
says, it's not her fault that she had to have her leg off, so she  
has no reason to be ashamed of it. In fact, she says, she doesn't  
mind it, now that she's got used to it."

    I noticed that Susan had shifted in her seat, and in so doing,  
her skirt had been drawn up on the right side, revealing that it was  
split, and showing some of her slender thigh. On the left, it now  
draped emptily over the edge of the seat...the combined effect being  
that her lack of a left leg had become more noticeable. I wasn't  
sure, but I thought I detected a subtle shift in her demeanor. Was  
she trying to turn me on?...If so, she was succeeding. I tried,  
however, to keep my cool.

    "Do you mind having one leg?" I couldn't resist asking.

    "No, not really. I quite like it, in some ways."

    "D'you think any of the other girls in your agency like it,  
too? I mean, did any of them actually want to have one leg?" I asked.

    "There's one, yes. There's a girl called Penny. She was at  
school with me. She actually lost her leg as a result of a  
car-crash, but when she was at school with me, she was always going  
on about how she wished she had one leg."

    "Then what happened?"

    "Just over a year ago, she was in an accident, and they had to  
amputate her leg to free her from the wreck. She says she was  
semi-conscious, and heard someone saying something like 'what a pity  
for such a beautiful girl to have to have her leg off', but  
remembers that she started shouting, 'Take it off! Take it off!',  
because she really wanted it."

    "And does she like having one leg?"

    "That's what she says, often...she couldn't wait to get her  
crutches, either. She was mad keen to get out and start flashing  
herself about. She's blonde, and very good-looking with a super  
figure."

    "What does she do?"

    "She's developed this very sexy, slow wiggle on her crutches,  
and she say she loves the way it makes people look at her leg. It is  
a good leg, though, I'll give her that."

    "What sort of things does she wear?" I was conscious that I was  
beginning to sound like an interrogator, but I was just too eager to  
hear all I could. Susan didn't seem to mind, though, and answered  
equably.

    "She's a great one for stockings...she wears red ones, yellow  
ones, ones with stripes, black lace ones - oh, all sorts. She wears  
miniskirts, and sometimes a boot -"

    "High-heeled?" I interjected.

    "Of course!" she replied, and resumed " - and she often lets a  
little bit of her stump show, too. Like an inch or two below her  
miniskirt. She says that turns guys on, too. She's terrible, really,  
but she says she's so happy to have one leg, and she wants to enjoy  
it. She's always talking about 'her foot' and 'her leg' - making  
sure everyone notices. When we go to a cafe, she'll say something  
like 'I must rest my leg' and stretch it out beside the table so  
everyone can see. She usually gets in some remark about being  
'stumped for an idea' or having to 'hop off somewhere', or something  
like that."

    "I guess you spend quite a bit of time discussing it?"

    "Discussing being one-legged, you mean?" I nodded in  
affirmation, and she went on, "Yes, of course...it's the main  
subject of conversation, to tell the truth."

    "But how? I mean, what do you say?"

    "My escorts love to hear me talk about being one-legged, so  
I'll mention it sometimes, just casually, or I might ask you to pass  
me my crutches, for example, or maybe I'll say something about my  
leg or my foot instead of my legs or feet. I mean, like you seem to,  
most of my escorts want to know the usual things...when did I lose  
my leg...how did it happen, and so on. Amongst ourselves we talk  
about what you seem to enjoy most, and it takes off from there. Of  
course, if Penny is there, or Dawn, well, then anything can happen!"

    "Why, what do they do?"

    "Those two?...they're always encouraging each other to be just  
that bit more outrageous. Usually they manage it, too!"

    The slit in Susan's skirt had now opened almost up to her hip,  
her single leg revealed completely, the skirt gathered in folds  
beside it. The suspicion that she was doing it deliberately had now  
blossomed into full-flowered certainty, but I didn't want her to  
stop...it was like a very slow striptease. As a corollary, however,  
I was also now convinced that she was happy to let our discussion  
take almost any path. "Do you think any of them actually arranged  
it? To have one leg, I mean?"

    "Well, there's one girl. Her name's Jean...she's not very nice,  
actually, but when we talk about how we lost our legs, most of us  
say the usual things, like car-crashes. There's one girl who lost  
her leg in a riding accident...she had a bad fall, but this girl  
never says why she lost her leg. I sometimes wonder why."

    "You think that's possible?"

    "Well, her family is very rich, and she could afford to have it  
done privately, and she definitely enjoys it."

    "You say she's not very nice. Maybe she's just shy. You ought  
to ask her straight out." I paused, thoughtfully "Have you ever  
asked Penny why she wanted to have one leg?"

    "Oh, she's told me quite often...she says she likes the look of  
it. She said that the first time she saw me on crutches, she thought  
that my one leg looked much neater than two, and from that moment,  
she says she remembered her childhood fantasy, and decided that she  
wanted to have one leg, herself."

    Susan was now leaning back against the cushions, one arm  
hitched back behind her, and her hand draped over her breast. One  
finger had started to stroke the nipple which showed clearly inside  
her blouse. Her eyes were half-closed and her mouth slightly open.  
And that was apart that gorgeous leg of hers! I thought I was in  
Heaven. For a few moments I just watched her, then said softly, "Do  
you know what you're doing to me, Susan?" and waited for her  
response.

    "No, but I have an idea," she replied, continuing, "and I was  
rather hoping you might show me...later" her voice tailing off  
suggestively, looking me up and down and smiling. "You really like  
one-legged girls, don't you, Phil?"

    "Actually, I've never met one before, but I must admit, I've  
always been fascinated, yes."

    "What is it that you like most about girls with one leg?"

    "All sorts of things, but partly the way a single leg moves...I  
like the motion, especially in contrast to a pair of crutches."

    "Hmmm," she said, thoughtfully, then asked, "And you've never  
met a one-legged girl before?"

    "No...you're the first." I told her, "I've always hoped, but  
never been lucky enough. There aren't many of you around, you know."

    "Yes, that's right."

    "How did you lose your leg?" I asked, emboldened by her  
apparent willingness to discuss her amputation.

    "In an accident."

    "What about shoes, though?" I asked.

    "That's the only problem. I used to just have to buy a pair,  
and waste the left shoe, but a couple of months ago another girl and  
I started to share. She has her left leg, and I have my right, and  
we both take the same size."

    "And you both have the same taste in shoes?" I asked.

    "Almost the same," Susan replied.

    "Do you always wear a high heel?"

    "Oh, absolutely. What kind of shoe you wear is very important,  
when you only have one leg. So is the kind of stocking...I like  
those lacy ones, with the design." she revealed, bending forward to  
trace a curlicue with one finger against her calf, her breasts  
pressing roundly outward inside her jumper.

    "So do I!" I responded, "but I think all men do, don't they?"

    "Probably!" she laughed, then said, "What about a black  
stocking?"

    "Of course!"

    "And what about with a seam?" she asked, mischievously.

    "And those!...I must admit, I've never known just why a seam  
should be so attractive, but they are. Especially just one seamed  
stocking!" I teased.

    "What about this other girl, the one you share pairs of shoes  
with?"

    "What d'you want to know?"

    "Anything, I suppose...when did she lose her leg, how did it  
happen?...that sort of thing. What's her name, what does she look  
like?"

    "She's called Jane, and she's blonde, and very good-looking.  
And she lost her leg when she was in her teens. We cause quite a  
sensation when we go out. Like when we go into a shoe-shop, and say  
something like 'that pair of shoes in the window. We'd like to try  
them on...I'll try the right shoe, and she'll try the left one!'  
They just don't know what to do!"

    During one game of B.E.A., Felicia drew caricatures of all the  
girls she was describing. A couple of days later, I suggested that  
she should repeat the drawings on some more suitable material than  
paper napkins, and expand the quantity with depictions of the events  
in the imaginary lives of the fantasy characters she drew, to  
produce a kind of cartoon comic.
 

    Another game she dreamed up was 'Dinah, Dinah!'. I found a red  
envelope in my briefcase, containing a drawing of a one-legged girl  
dressed in a sleazy satin miniskirt, suspenders, deep neckline  
blouse, ultra-high heel and fishnet stocking, leaning on a single  
axilla-crutch. 'Meet Dirty Dinah!. it said on the other side. There  
was another piece of paper in her writing, saying that I was to give  
a coded bell-ring when I returned - when I arrive, I am to pretend  
that we just met in a low-class pickup joint, and I have just been  
to the booze-shop to get more.  

    Dinah was waiting when I opened the door, and came towards me,  
putting her arms round me and giving me a long sensuous kiss.

    "I know you've been thinking about my leg; my one leg." she  
whispered, pressing her breasts against my chest. "I'm so proud to  
know how I turn you on," she continued, "especially when I feel my  
stump pressing against you, and I know you can feel it, too. I want  
to make love to you. I want you deep inside me. Oh, angel, why don't  
you take my crutches and put them against the wall - take the  
crutches I use because I have only one leg, and then you can pick me  
up and I'll feel your hand holding my little round stump, and you  
can carry your one-legged lover into the bedroom and I can rub my  
long smooth slender single leg all up and down your back."

    She took my hand and guided it up the slender length of her  
single thigh, under her skirt, lifting the material to reveal the  
short, soft, rounded stub beside it. I stroked and caressed her  
stump, and immediately her breath began to quicken. Growing more  
excited by the second, she started to undo my trousers, her hand  
reaching down and grasping me hungrily. Her other hand began to  
unfasten my shirt-buttons. My own were greedily relishing her  
breasts which, unfettered by a brassiere, almost spilled out from  
the low neckline of her blouse.

    Rapid seduction was the intention, because the skirt had a zip  
down the back easy to remove without breaking the mood, so that we  
were soon naked. I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom  
and we lay down together.

    She wriggled herself closer to me, lying almost on top of me.  
In that position her breasts were pressed against my chest, her long  
slender leg was stretched out, and the minuscule stump which was all  
she had of her left leg was pressed against my groin.

    "But I know you'll like that feeling - " she whispered into my  
ear, moving her hips slightly, so that the blunt round shape pressed  
more firmly against me.

    My hand moved from its' position on her waist, over her buttock  
and continued on, finally coming to rest cupping her stump. "And I  
know I know you like this feeling." I echoed her words, gently  
pressing as I said them.

    "Oh, yes, yes!" she gasped, "Oh, hold my stump, darling. Keep  
touching me where I don't have a leg. I know you like to touch me  
where my leg was cut off. I only have one foot and one calf - and  
one thigh and one knee, because I had to have my left leg off...so  
now I have just one leg to wrap around you." She went on, turning me  
on in the way that she had learned I liked. "I love feeling my leg  
against you, my single leg, knowing that the other one isn't there  
anymore; that I only have a stump where my leg used to be. Oh, touch  
my leg-stump, darling, I want to feel your hand holding my stump, I  
want you to feel my amputation like it was your leg that was gone."

    My hand crept down and adjusted my now-throbbing erection so  
that the swollen tip pressed against her sex. She reacted  
immediately, her hips twisting towards me. Felicia's passion was at  
fever pitch, and taking the lead she rolled me onto my back. Lifting  
herself on her elbows and her single knee, she maneuvered her hips  
into position and swung her stump out to the side to open herself,  
then carefully and slowly she drew me into her warm softness and  
sank down with a satisfied hum until she lay closely along my whole  
body, adjusting her position to press her magnificent breasts  
together so that they formed a soft cushion between us.

    "Ooooo...Aaaah..." she murmured as our bodies became one.  
"That's wonderful!"

    "I know...but you're so easy to come into."

    She smiled and kissed me, "That's one of the advantages of  
having one leg. Especially since it's off so high up...it means  
there's not enough of my stump to get in the way." I knew all that,  
but she enjoyed the effect that talking about her one-leggedness had  
on me, as well as gaining her own pleasure from doing so, and it had  
become a regular part of our lovemaking.

    The effect was explosive, and in a matter of seconds we both  
climaxed together, Felicia calling, "Fuck my leg...Oh, Fuck me...
Fuck me...Fuck my stump, Oh - Fuck - My - One - Leg - Aiiii - Ahhh -  
Ooooo...Ahhhhhhhh!" as I thrust into her, our bodies bouncing on the  
bed.

    Apart from the sheer hedonistic pleasure of our games, there  
was another consequence, which made them into an important part of  
our lives. In that quiet, relaxed time, when, passion spent, lovers  
lie in each others arms and talk, we found we could probe and  
explore the deepest parts of our personalities, and in this way we  
came to know each other more completely.

    After our first game of Dirty Dinah, we lay in each other's  
arms, caressing each other gently. Felicia's leg lay over me and her  
stump pressed against my hip.

    "It's marvelous." she whispered, adding, "I'd never want to  
have two legs again, even if I could. Now that I have you, I'm  
almost glad I had my leg off, you know. I mean, if I wasn't on  
crutches, I don't think you'd have given me a second glance."

    I didn't know whether she was still 'in character' or not,  
because the usual agreement was that games ended at breakfast the  
following morning, but it was also a kind of convention that in the  
'afterwards' we weren't doing it more than superficially, and that  
most of what we talked about was the real us. However, we could talk  
deeply without being serious, and joke without being trivial. "Oh, I  
don't know about that!" I replied, "Not with such a superb figure as  
yours." I added, planting a kiss on the springy roundness of her  
left breast.

    "Well, maybe." she returned, "But given the choice between big  
boobs and two legs, or an amputee with little ones, I reckon I know  
which you'd go for!" she laughed, biting my earlobe gently, "The one  
with the crutches, every time!"

    "I guess so." I admitted. Something she had said a moment  
before made me curious, "What's marvelous, though. You just said it  
was marvelous."

    "The way that my having one leg seems to make sex better." she  
turned to look at me. "For both of us." she paused, then added, "I  
mean, you get turned on by it, and that turns me on."

    "Of course - the biggest turn-on is to know that you turn  
someone else on."

    "Yes, that too, but I mean that being one-legged turns me on.  
Well, it's beginning to, anyway."

    "I thought you were neither one way not 'tother about it."

    "Yes, I think I was. But that was before. Now I have you  
telling me that you think I'm beautiful, I'm beginning to discover  
that I actually enjoy being an amputee."

    I smiled with pleasure, "When did you discover this?"

    "I guess it must have been developing for some time, but a few  
days ago, while I was buying some shoes, I realized that I was quite  
excited by knowing that I've had a leg off. But I think that the  
thing I enjoy most is being on crutches."

    "Do you, how so?"

    "I just like the way I move. Not like someone with a cast on  
their leg, clumsily and slowly. I feel graceful and elegant on  
crutches, and as you know, I'm no slow-coach!"

    "That you aren't," I agreed, "and I think you look fabulous on  
crutches. I'm glad you're happy, too." A thought struck me, "D'you  
think you might eventually prefer it?"

    "Mmmm - dunno." she said, cautiously, "I've gone from hating  
everything about it, through tolerating it, accepting it and now I'm  
quite glad about it. I'd never have expected that much change, two  
years ago, so I'm not going to predict how I'll feel next year; I  
just don't know."

    "Does it excite you to be different? Is that it?" I wondered.

    "Sometimes it does." she answered, "But that's not the part  
that excites me - what I enjoy is the feeling of having one leg. To  
me it feels more natural to have one leg and be on crutches - almost  
like I'd always been one-legged inside, without knowing it, I mean,  
and losing my leg helped me find the real me. I mean, it's exciting  
to me to know that you like me because I'm an amputee, but it's much  
more exciting for me to feel one-legged."

    "Does Nicola feel the same?" I asked.

    "I don't think so." Felicia replied, "I mean, she enjoys  
turning James on with it, and she's come to accept it, and be  
content as she is. No, I worked this out all by myself. Like I just  
said, it feels quite natural for me to look down and see that I only  
have one leg - and equally natural for me to use crutches, of course."

    "What you said just before sounds awful like you do prefer it,  
in fact, but you don't seem to want to admit it. I mean, if saying  
that being one-legged is exciting is pretty much the same as saying  
you prefer it, wouldn't you say?"

    "Did it sound like that?" she asked, surprised, "Hmm, yes, I  
suppose you're right. I guess I'm just not sure if it can go on  
being as much fun as this."

    "Why not?" I countered, "Weren't you just saying that you keep  
discovering new things? Why shouldn't that process continue? After  
all, making discoveries of any kind is more a state of mind than  
anything else. If you keep looking for things to enjoy, you'll find  
more and more of them. As the man says, 'seek, and ye shall find',  
though I don't think that this is exactly what he was talking about."

    "Hey, that's right!" she said, brightening, "Why shouldn't I  
get to have more and more fun out of it?" she added. "Why not?" I  
echoed, as she went on, "I get the impression that you like hearing  
me say that enjoy it, anyway."

    "It's true, I do. In fact, there's only one kind of girl I find  
more attractive than a girl with one leg and crutches, and that's a  
girl who enjoys being one-legged. Well, two, actually."

    "What's the other one?" she asked, her curiosity pricked.

    "You'll laugh." I said, defensively.

    "No, I won't."

    "You don't know what it is."

    "So tell me, then. And I promise I won't laugh. Not hard,  
anyway." she added, teasing me.

    "It's a girl who has one leg because she wanted to."

    Felicia blinked. "Because she wanted to?" she echoed. "That  
alone?"

    "Yes, silly, isn't it?"

    "Well, at least I didn't laugh at it." she smiled, "And I don't  
know that it's such a silly idea. Odd, yes - but not silly. Why is  
that so exciting, though? I mean, is that your biggest turn-on, a  
girl who has a leg off by choice? Why's that such a thrill?"

    "Because it's the ultimate reason for having one leg. There  
wouldn't be any doubt that she knew she would be more attractive  
with one leg."

    "I begin to see what you mean. In fact, in some ways you could  
think of me that way. After all, I didn't actually have to lose my  
leg. I could have kept it, but it's quite true that I thought that  
I'd be more attractive without it." She was deliberately shifting  
the emphases around in her story in an effort to parry this possible  
assault on her self-confidence, and I felt a sudden rush of  
affection for her, and guilt at being tactless.

    "That's true, yes. But to me you are, and will remain, the most  
attractive, beautiful, sexy, and gorgeously one-legged girl in the  
world."

    "And anyway, in case you haven't noticed, I do enjoy being  
one-legged. I'd have thought I make that obvious!"

    "Oh, you do. I just like to hear you say so."

    Suddenly it dawned on her that I had been deliberately leading  
her up that garden path. "Oooooh!" she cried, picking up a small  
cushion and hurling it at me, "You're rotten, you are!"