An Encounter on a Train - Part 7

 An Encounter on a Train - 7

    Christina's hair was very dark. Her face was small and
pointed-chinned, with large brown eyes shadowed with green. Her
gypsy skirt swelled out from her slender waist, curving over her
hips, and below the hem showed several petticoats, gathered fluffily
about a pair of slender trim- ankled legs. On her feet were a pair of
round-toed flat shoes with ankle-straps.

    As she entered the room, limping slightly and leaning on a
slender ebony cane, her rolling gait made it quite obvious that she
was wearing an artificial left leg, and the stiffness of the ankle
when she sat down confirmed it.

    Felicia came and sat down beside me, putting her crutches in
their usual place against the arm of the sofa. I put my arm round
her and she leaned back against me. "Christina and I bumped into
each other in a shop," she explained, "and we sort of started
talking."

    "Yes," said Christina in a soft voice, "I couldn't help
noticing that Felicia is an amputee, like me, but that she doesn't
wear a prosthesis. So I asked her why, and didn't it put a cramp in
her social life?" she added.

    "I told her about you," said Felicia, taking up the story, "and
how you liked seeing me on crutches, and she wanted to meet you. I
guess she thought you would be three feet tall with green skin, or
something!" she laughed.

    "Not at all," Christina countered, looking slightly
embarrassed, "I just wanted to find out more. I mean, perhaps I
shouldn't be saying this to someone I've only just met, but I'm
getting desperate!" Her lip trembled slightly, and she went on,
"It's been eighteen months since anyone's even looked at me. No-one
seems to ask me out anymore, and I'm young and - oh, I don't know...
" she trailed off, looking away. A hand reached up and flicked away
a tear. "I'm sorry,," she said after a moment, "I guess there's no
point in making an exhibition of myself."

    Felicia looked at her with sympathy. "No, but it tends to
happen anyway." she said carefully.

    Christina shook herself, and succeeded in looking a little
brighter. She leaned forward. "So, anyway, what's this Felicia tells
me about guys who might be interested in me. As I am now, I mean."

    "Exactly what it sounds like." I assured her, "It may surprise
you to hear it, but I think Felicia is perfect as she is."

    "Despite having one leg?" Christina persisted.

    "Or even because of it." Felicia interjected, adding, "Anyway,
that's what Phil says, and I have reason to believe him." she
smiled, looking at me conspiratorially.

    "Really?" Christina echoed, sitting back again. "Doesn't that
bother you?" she asked Felicia, "I think it would me."

    "No, it doesn't bother me. Why should it?"

    "Well, I mean, it's not my most attractive feature, is it?"
Christina countered, doubtfully.

    "Phil probably thinks it is. He thinks its mine, at any rate."

    "Do you, Phil?" she asked, looking at me somewhat suspiciously.

    Though I could see where Felicia was leading, I wasn't so sure
that her broadside approach was wise, so I answered carefully, "I
think you're a very attractive girl, regardless. I think Felicia is,
too. I happen to love her, as well, and I love everything about her.
Being one-legged makes her even more special."

    Felicia knew I was shifting the tack, and surreptitiously dug
me in the ribs. "Look Christina," she said, sounding determined, "I
know exactly how you feel - I felt the same way myself. I thought
I'd never find anyone, ever again. Then a friend of mine put me
straight, told me to stop wearing my leg, get some smart clothes,
and let myself be seen as I am, rather than try to hide it. Six
weeks later I met this old rogue." she laughed, reaching up and
tousling my hair. I grinned down at her.

    "And were you attracted to Felicia because you could see that
she had one leg? asked Christina, sounding slightly amazed.

    "In part, yes." I answered, "But she opened the conversation."

    Felicia chuckled at the reminder. "He dropped his book, reached
down to get it, saw that I had one leg and that surprised him so
much that he almost concussed himself on the tabletop!" she
amplified, "and he looked so funny! All ruffled and fidgety, and he
couldn't stop trying to sneak glances at me when he thought I wasn't
looking. Of course, I was, and eventually I couldn't help giggling.
That kind of broke the ice, we started talking, and we've been
talking ever since. At least, I think we are." She turned round and
faced me, a frown on her face, "I think I'll forgive you for
deviously sneaking into the bathroom ahead of me this morning." she
said, sounding generous. I grinned and kissed her brow. "Anyway, I
don't like to use my leg much, nowadays. And Phil likes to see me on
crutches, too." she finished.

    "Weddings and funerals only, you mean?"

    "Not even those. Reminds me too much of what it was like
before, and I don't enjoy the memory. I feel crippled when I wear
it, like I did with the leg-brace. How about you? D'you think you
would feel more comfortable using crutches in public?"

    "I could, I suppose." Christina mused, "Once I got used to the
idea."

    "You really should, you know," Felicia went on, "and you'd be
amazed at the difference it seems to make. Especially if you wear a
high heel, as well."

    Christina looked down at her feet, on flesh and blood, the
other metal and plastic. "I'd love to wear high heels again." she
said, wonderingly.

    Felicia chuckled, and Christina looked up in confusion. "Oh,
yes, of course. Well, a high heel, anyway."

    I stood up and went to the doorway, "Coffee? All round?" I
asked, pausing on the threshold. Both girls accepted my offer, so I
went to make it, leaving them chatting.

    "I was just noticing," I heard Christina say as I re-entered,
carry a tray, and she added with a laugh, "especially the way the
skirt drapes!"

    "You mean the way it shows the shape of my stump?" answered
Felicia, looking down at the barely concealed shape outlined by the
fabric of her blue silk wrapover dress, "That's what I mean - I
choose my clothes to accentuate some aspect of my figure, instead of
hiding it."

    "Can I have a look at the effect when you stand up?" asked
Christina.

    "Certainly!" averred Felicia, reaching for her crutches,
standing, moving to the center of the room and twirling.

    "Lovely!" exclaimed Christina, clapping her hands in approval,
"I see what you mean - it's quite subtle really, but the way it
flows, sometimes it's totally demure, and other times it's quite
revealing."

    "I know. Naughty, isn't it?" giggled Felicia, continuing, "But
that's the effect I'm aiming at. My philosophy is that on most
occasions suggestions and hints are more interesting than brazen
display. I think it's especially true where girls like us are
concerned." She looked down at me, "And it seems to have the desired
effect on him, too!"

    Christina looked at me. "You really find Felicia more
attractive on crutches?" she asked, slowly.

    "He doesn't get any choice, actually!" Felicia replied for me,
adding, "It feels natural for me to use crutches, in fact."

    "Natural?" Christina echoed, surprise in her voice.

    "Why not?" Felicia countered, "I'm a one-legged person, and so
are you. I don't like to think that some malevolent force picked on
me, so I prefer to take the view that I was naturally destined to
have one leg, and now that I do, my true nature is revealed."

    Christina stood up and followed Felicia out of the room. A few
minutes later I heard their voices, and they came back again.

    "Well," said Felicia, coming to stand beside me and putting her
hand on my shoulder, "what do you think, Christina? Do you think he
looks more interested, or not?"

    I know darned well I did. Christina was much more interesting.
She'd taken off her leg, and had evidently borrowed a pair of
crutches from Felicia.

    Christina looked a little surprised, but also pleased, and
replied, "D'you really think I look better, Phil?"

    "Definitely!"

    Both girls laughed at my emphatic reply. "And don't you feel
more comfortable?" asked Felicia. Before Christina could reply
Felicia carried on, "What you need is a shoe-partner, like I have."

    "A shoe-partner?" said Christina, sitting down and stacking her
borrowed crutches beside her.

    "Yes, a girl who's lost the other leg, and who takes the same
size as you do, like my girlfriend Nicola and I. We share our shoes
between us. Of course, it helps if you both have similar tastes in
shoes, too."

    "That's a good idea! But how on earth do I go about finding a
girl like that? I mean another one-legged girl with the opposite
foot missing, and the same size as mine? And not only that, but who
doesn't use a prosthesis, either!"

    "It's not impossible. I met Nicola. We aren't unique, you know.
Just unusual. Look, I think James might have some ideas. That's
Nicola's husband. I'll ask him. But what size shoe do you take?"

    "Four and a half." Christina replied.

    "Okay. I thought you were smaller than I am, otherwise I'd have
offered to split the next load I get from Nicola with you. She sends
me far more than I do to her, but she says she just can't resist
when James takes her into a shoe-shop, which he seems to, twice a
week!"

    "I'll tell him next time I speak to him, tomorrow." I offered.

    "Hold on, we still don't know what kind of shoes Christina is
looking for."

    "Oh, heels, of course!" Christina laughed, "Nice high ones like
that one you're wearing, Felicia!" she pointed. "I want to feel sexy
again!"

    Felicia laughed, "That's the idea! Concentrate on the good
parts, and to hell with the rest. You can feel just as sexy on one
leg as on two. In fact, I sometimes feel even better than before."

    "Better?" said Christina, incredulously, "Now that I find hard
to accept."

    "It depends on how you look at things, I suppose," Felicia
explained, calmly, "It's different, and I find it still has a
certain novelty. I guess I like unusual experiences, and having one
leg is certainly that!"

    "You don't mean you like having one leg?" Christina said, still
sounding bemused.

    "Maybe not that, exactly, but I like the feeling of being
different, and it seems much the same to me. Maybe I'm just
compensating, or something, but if so, it's my way of accepting that
I have one leg, and it seems to work for me."

    "Still - " Christina trailed off.

    "I'm not suggesting that you should feel the same. You'll have
to deal with it in your own way. I'm just saying that since I happen
to have lost my leg, I've decided to try and appreciate what I have
and what I am, rather than what I'm not, and don't have. I am a
girl, and I have one leg. I accept that, and since I can't separate
the two, and I like being a girl, I may as well like being a
one-legged girl, that's all. I've found the best way is to
concentrate on the girl part, and take the one-legged part as it
comes. And if you think of all the attention given to legs, you'd be
amazed at how many opportunities there are to play around with that,
when you only have one." she laughed.

    "Such as what?" Christina asked, sounding more interested.

    "Such as shoe-shops, and almost all fashion-shops, and really
almost anywhere, if you know how!" she looked at me, and added,
"Phil and I are getting rather good at that." she winked.

    "What do you mean? I'm still confused."

    "What she means," I explained, "is that she knows I like to see
her showing off, and that she enjoys it too, and that we've found
all sorts of ways to make it into a kind of game. I try to invent
new ways for her to show that she has one leg, and she tries to
outdo me."

    "I know," Felicia put in, "it all sounds very silly, perhaps,
but it's just a game we play between ourselves. We have fun, though."

    "I haven't got a Phil, though." Christina sounded resigned.

    "That's what I've been trying to get et. Dress up a bit, use
crutches and don't worry about letting people know that you've lost
a leg, and you'll soon get one."

    "Why don't we all go out for something to eat?" I suggested.

    Christina look doubtful, but Felicia agreed happily, and
encouraged her. "Yes, let's!" she said, adding, "Come on, Christina,
you'll enjoy it!"

    "Alright," she finally agreed.
 

    Over the next few days, Christina spent quite some time at one
or other of our places, and Felicia taught her what she had learned
about making the best of life with one leg, as she had been taught
by Nicola. Despite encouragement, Christina was at first reluctant
to stop using her prosthesis, but when she turned up at our
apartment using it, Felicia would urge her take it off as soon as
she came in the door.

    It soon became routine for her to come inside and take off her
leg much as she might an overcoat, and wait for me to bring her a
suitable pair of crutches. She'd then spend the rest of the day in
practicing and improving her use of them, and one day she arrived on
them. That was the first day she'd done everything on one leg and
crutches, from getting up in the morning, to going to bed at night,
she said, but she seldom wore the leg again, so that within a few
days, her artificial limb was also gathering dust in the back of the
closet, like Felicia's, and an assortment of crutches started to
appear around her house.

    At least, I suppose they must have done, because I noticed one
day that Felicia's collection seemed to be quite depleted.

    "I know." she said, when I mentioned it to her. "I lent several
pairs to Christina, because she really doesn't have any, apart from
the standard kinds."

    "She ought to have some made by Albert." I suggested.

    "I'm not sure she has much money." Felicia said, doubtfully.
"And Albert's crutches aren't cheap, are they?"

    "Well," I said, thoughtfully, "how many pairs d'you think she
might need?"

    "Five?" Felicia proposed, "Three pairs of axilla-crutches,
Black, wooden but smart, and white, and two pairs of Canadians, one
black, the other - oh, what about red? With her long dark hair, and
that bright red lipstick she wears, she'd look good in a black
dress, with a red stocking, high-heeled red shoe, and with matching
red crutches! Don't you think so?"

    "Sounds gorgeous!" I agreed, "Okay, five pairs, which would be
about - " I paused, calculating, "something under two hundred. I
think."

    "Hmmmm." she grunted, "Not pennies, is it?"

    "No, but it wouldn't break the Bank at Monte Carlo, either."

    "You wouldn't be thinking of buying them for her, would you?"
Felicia said, not sounding particularly interested.

    "I might use it as an excuse to get you those white ones you've
been going on about, the ones you said you wanted to decorate."

    "Oooh! Would you?" she said, sitting up in surprise, then lying
down again to hug me tightly. "Can I have six of them? That's only
three pairs, and - "

    " - and that's less than five pairs, Yes, of course you can.
You can have more, if you really want. Frankly, I'd much rather buy
crutches for you, instead. It's just that, if you're right, and she
can't afford to splash out like that, I think she'd look more
well-dressed. And I know you don't mind me looking at her."

    "You can look." she agreed, "And considering how much you like
looking at girls, especially one-legged girls, I'm not surprised.
Christina's started to look pretty good; and I think she's beginning
to see what she can enjoy about it."

    "Tell me, tell me!" I urged her.

    She laughed, "Well, now, let me see." she said, deliberately
spinning the time out, "We went to a shoe-shop yesterday, to get her
some high heels - when we came out she said she'd found it rather
odd to go into a shoe-shop on crutches, and to buy a shoe knowing
that she wasn't going to use the other one, but that it was also
rather exciting."

    "Anything else?" I said, when she paused.

    "Mmmm, yes," she answered judiciously, "she's asked me to have
a look at her wardrobe, and she said - as far as I can remember -
'to see which dresses make my leg look nicest, and which will go
best with my new crutches.'"

    "So you think it's okay to buy Christina some crutches?"

    "If you buy me some white ones for me to decorate, too." she
agreed.

    "It'll be a sort of 'welcome to being one-legged' present for
her." I suggested, sounding deliberately naughty.

    Felicia laughed. "You are incorrigible!" she said. Her stump
moved against my leg. "Maybe this'll keep your mind on the
here-and-now." she added, throatily.
 

    Christina's wardrobe was duly inspected, and suggestions were
made by Felicia on alterations, particularly those concerning
reinforcement of the stitching. In an effort to clarify the process
of explanation, she started to draw little sketches to illustrate
her points.

    She showed some of them to me, one evening. I thought they were
rather effective, and suggested that she develop these cartoon
characters into a kind of Helpful Manual for amputees, full of hints
and tips about how to reinforce clothing, negotiate unusual
obstacles, and so on.

    As part of the research, the girls suggested a shopping-trip,
to Paris! I didn't argue too much, and though I realized that it was
liable to be rather expensive, I expected to enjoy the experience.

    We caused quite a stir, too, and both Felicia and Christina
bought suitcases full of clothes.

    I transpired that Christina, once she had made her mind up that
Felicia's advice was sound, underwent a kind of metamorphosis from a
pretty but rather young-looking girl into a stylish, elegant and
very sensuous woman, and as her grew more confident that the appeal
her lack of one leg could give her was no fiction, she began, albeit
slowly, to follow Felicia's examples.

    At first in tentative experiments in speech and posture, then
later and with increasing assurance in her choice of dress and
footwear, she started to employ her one-leggedness as a feature.

    She had a totally different tastes, however. Where Felicia was
romantic, Christina was more hard-edged, and instead of lace and
ribbons, would go for strong geometrics and bold colors. She had a
passion for leather - any kind, but I have to admit that my
favorite was what she called her 'biker-girl' outfit.

    It wasn't really suitable for actual motorcycling, because
whilst the jacket was modeled on a biking-jacket, it was skin-tight
and made of very thin hide. The skirt, on the other hand, would have
been a positive liability on a pillion-seat, because it was a
mini-skirt with fringes, about twelve inches deep, all around it. It
made her leg, dressed in a black sheer stocking and with a
high-heeled ankle-boot on the foot, look absolutely gorgeous, but it
would have been deadly, when inevitably it became caught up in the
chain.

    We'd bought it in Paris, at a small and slightly kinky shop
near the Beaubourg. That's also the area in which some of the
better-class Parisian 'filles de joie' hang out, and I daresay the
outfit had been intended for such, but it immediately appealed to
Christina when Felicia pointed it out to her in the window, so we
had entered the shop to make enquiries.

    She'd tried it on, and to her delight it fitted her almost
perfectly, the jacket fitting without a crease, flattering her
slender waist and perfect breasts. The skirt, which clung sensuously
to the curves of her posterior, was so short that it didn't even
extend as far as the end of her stump, but due to the long fringes,
both that intimate detail, and her long slim leg would do a kind of
'Dance of the Seven Veils' as she moved on her crutches. Sometimes
it was as though she was wearing an opaque, knee-length skirt, other
times almost the entire length of her slender black-stockinged thigh
or the smooth round shape of her stump, also covered in sheer black
nylon, would be visible.

    "What kind of crutches d'you think you'd use with it?" asked
Felicia.

    "Hmmm. Black," Christina said, thoughtfully, "and probably
axillas, wouldn't you think? Why do you ask?"

    "It might be an idea to have a reinforcing patch put under the
arms, so that can wear, and then be replaced, rather than the jacket.
" she turned to the shop-owner, "Would that be possible, m'sieur? A
patch of matching leather under the arms?"

    "Mais, oui, mam'selle. But it will not be possible today.
Tomorrow evening, perhaps?"

    "What do you think, Christina?" she asked.

    "I think I'll take it." she announced.

    "Oh, no, mam'selle!" exclaimed the shopkeeper, "Your friend is
quite right. I must 'ave un p'tit renforcement."

    Christina laughed, "I'm sorry, m'sieur, I meant, I will have
it, and yes, I'd like you to do as my friend has suggested."

    "Ah, bon!" he said, looking relieved and smiling, "Ma mistake.
Pardon."

    He then asked how long we'd been in Paris, how long we intended
to stay and so on, before telling us about a shop that we might be
interested in visiting.

    "'ere is ze address," he said, handing me a piece of paper,
"It's not so far from 'ere. You may find it interesting because ze
sell shoes, but not only pairs - zey will sell a single shoe, if you
wish."

    "Really, m'sieur?" said Felicia, surprised.

    "Indeed, mam'selle. Zey 'ave been selling one shoe to zose 'oo
wish, for many years now. You ladies are not ze first zat Paris 'as
seen; but it is many years since we 'ad such beautiful visitors as
you."

    Both girls smiled with pleasure at the evident sincerity of his
compliment.

    "Thank you, m'sieur," they said together, and Christina then
asked, "you mean that you've seen people like us before? Girls with
one leg, I mean?"

    "Oh, mam'selle! Of course! This is Paris! In Paris we 'ave
many. Life is not always kind, you know. Of course we 'ave zose 'oo
are injured. Some are old, some are young. Some are men, some women.
So naturally, we sometimes 'ave young women 'oo are injured.
Sometimes zey 'ide away, sometimes zey say to zemself 'It is not my
fault, so I will not be sad', and come out into ze sunshine! For a
beautiful girl, part of ze fun is in pretty cloze, and nice shoes,"
he leaned forward mock-conspiratorially, "but zere is no need to buy
two shoes if one is all zat is needed."

    When the two girls discovered a shop which sold single shoes,
they went completely mad, and I had to point out that even if I
could pay for them, I wouldn't be able to carry any more, they
calmed down, finally settling on about a dozen and a half each.
Their choices ranged from elegant dress-shoes, through sandals,
casuals and evening-wear, to several boots each.

    We were told by the assistant that this shop was the only one
in Paris which specialized in selling single shoes, though of
course, most of their trade was in pairs. Apparently they had
several dozen one-legged ladies among their clients, and were quite
familiar with their special requirements.

    We were given another contact, this time a dress-maker, and
were told that she was patronized by several of the clients of the
shoe-shop, among them, some of the amputee clients.

    The next day, we made an appointment by 'phone, and took a taxi
to the address, a private house in the suburbs. We were greeted at
the door by an elderly man, who seemed to live there, but acted as a
kind of major-domo, shown into a salon, and introduced to Mme
Languedechat.

    I am politely, but firmly, dismissed, and on a sudden impulse,
I decide to return to the shop in which we had seen Christina's new
leather outfit. I asked if it would be possible to get a similar one
in white, for Felicia, as a surprise.
 

    Nobody had seen two beautiful one-legged girls parading around
like we did for years, though we were told by several other people
that we weren't unique, either.

    The French have much more enlightened attitudes, and treated us
as exotic, but not at all odd, unlike Londoners.

    A suspicious-looking character seemed to be following us
around, though, and I grew more doubtful when we encountered him in
London.

    However, he seemed easily scared off, when I'd finally had
enough, and challenged him, and no more was seen of him.

    Meanwhile, Felicia added more work to her carton-strip.
 

    Having been initiated by Felicia, it seemed as though Christina
now began to try to compete with her, and we both began to get the
impression that she was showing every appearance of trying to make a
play for me.

    Then one evening, when Felicia had gone out to visit her
Mother, there was a knock on the front door.

    I went to open it. "Hello, Christina!" I said, "Felicia's out -
and the dragon's lair. Didn't she tell you?"

    "Yes, she said," came the reply, "but to be honest, I was
feeling mizz, and I wanted a bit of company. I hope I'm not
disturbing you."

    "No, not at all," I lied, stepping back and letting her enter.
I'd been going through some of my 'collection', which I'd hardly
bothered to do since I'd met Felicia. Newspaper cuttings about and
photographs of one-legged girls have little appeal when you're
living with the reality.

    She passed me her crutches and took off her coat; I took it
from her, handed back her crutches and turned to hang it up. She was
almost overdressed for a quick and impulsive visit, in a short
leather skirt, skinny-rib sweater and high heeled sandal, I noticed,
but I dismissed the idle though that sprang to mind - I'd seen so
much of her over the past few weeks that I couldn't think of her
more than a friend, could I? She watched me with a small smile.

    When I'd gone into the kitchen to pour her a glass of wine, I'd
forgotten that the sitting-room floor was carpeted with this stuff,
and Christina had picked up a small pile, and was leafing through it.

    "Is this the collection that Felicia told me you had?" she
asked.

    "Mmmm." I replied, wondering what she'd make of it. Felicia
didn't mind me keeping it, but she preferred that I didn't spend too
much time poring over it, at least, not while she was around. Oddly
enough, whilst she didn't mind me looking at other women, such as
Nicola and Christina, She said she felt 'on trial' when I looked at
what she described as 'smudgy little prints', rather than at her. I
could understand her point, especially when I considered the efforts
she expended to appeal to me.

    Christina, on the other hand, seemed to find the pictures
fascinating, and soon came down and sat beside me on the floor. At
first I didn't notice what she was doing, which sounds kind of
stupid. She'd started by sitting quite close beside me, but not
quite touching, when I'd taken out one of my more interesting items,
an original copy of one of the 'London Life' Double numbers, and
she'd wanted to look at it more closely.

    She leaned forward; I felt her foot touch my knee. She
continued to read until the end of the page, and reached out her
hand. I turned the pages, and held it up a little so she could see
better. She let the hand she'd extended drop, but instead to drawing
it back, let it lie where it fell, touching my thigh. Her other arm
lifted and came to rest around my shoulders. Ostensibly, she was
merely using me to balance herself, I could appreciate, but I also
knew full well what would happen if I made the wrong move.

    I suppose I should have been flattered, but I was very happy
with Felicia, and I had no intention of jeopardizing that
relationship. She did feel awfully warm and cuddly, though, and her
scent was filling my nostrils.

    "I'm not sure this is wise." I commented, without moving.

    "Probably not." she agreed, and shifted a little closer. I
could feel her breast pressing against my ribs. "But you'd be lying
if you said you wanted me to stop." she breathed into my ear. She
shifted a little more, and I felt a soft pressure as her stump came
to rest against my upper thigh, and added, "And I'd be lying if I
said I wanted to."

    "I know." I replied, still not moving, "But I still don't think
it's a good idea - you do feel nice, though."

    "I just can't help myself," she said, not sounding very
perturbed, "I feel so - oh, you know - bottled up, and I know you
find me attractive because I have one leg. The problem is, you seem
to be the only one."
 

    That night in bed, I knew that I had a problem on my hands, and
before it became a problem between us, decided to raise the issue
with her.

    "I'm glad it wasn't just my imagination." she said, when I had
told her my thoughts, and also remembered to reassure her that I
loved her alone, and I wasn't contemplating even a bit of friendly
fence-jumping, let alone anything else. "I'd been noticing a sort of
competitive streak in her, and I wasn't sure I liked it. What's on
her mind, d'you think? I reckon it's men."

    "Me too," I agreed, "I think she needs a boyfriend, but she's
going to need a boyfriend who shares my preferences."

    "Of course," she nodded, "Now she knows that they exist. I
suppose that since she doesn't seem to have found the right one of
them yet, she's getting interested in the only guy she knows who
comes close. And that's you. But I'm glad you aren't interested in
her. Thank you." she kissed my chest.

    "So what d'you think we should do?"

    "Talk to her?"

    "Yeah, but how?" I wondered, "Straight out, gently, or
roundabout?"

    "Straight out, if you think she's mature enough. Roundabout?
No, she's not top of the class in tact, sometimes; I doubt if she'd
notice a hint, unless it was labeled 'Hint'!" she smiled, "I guess
gently might be best. In some ways she's still quite young, and it
may be that she just doesn't realize that she's wasting her time."

    We both agreed that it was something I'd have to tackle,
because if Felicia said anything, she'd be at risk of appearing to
be possessive, defensive and critical. I, on the other hand, would
find it easier to discourage her attentions by diverting them into
other channels.

    My first task was to defuse her increasingly provocative style
of dressing. I couldn't just tell her to stop doing it, because that
would have sounded bossy. It wasn't my affair to tell her how to
dress. What I could do, however, was to let her know that I could
see what she was doing, and then gently turn her attention away from
me, towards a potential boyfriend by making comments in an approving
but neutral tone about the impression I thought she would give to
others.

    The mention of boyfriends cause her spirits to sink for a
moment or two, but I ignored her unhappy look and started to make a
few suggestions about how we might start to locate some candidates.

    The immediately obvious groups were the various bachelor
friends that Nicola, James, Felicia and I shared between us. Surely,
amongst those there must be at least one presentable one who seemed
to show an unusual interest in women with one leg, though doubtless
was among their friends for quite different reasons?

    The tactic worked, and Christina started to use me as a kind of
litmus-test. If I didn't like something, she'd try to find out why,
and then adapt the costume.

    I found myself in the pleasant position of living with a
beautiful, sexy and willing girl, whom I loved, and being visited
frequently by another girl, almost as attractive, who between them
kept me constantly supplied with a kaleidoscope of views of single
legs, and half-empty skirts.

    "What do you think of this, Phil?" said Christina one
afternoon. I looked up from the maps I was studying. She was
standing in front of me,
 

    "Whoo!" I exclaimed, making her smile.

    "I thought you might say that," she replied. She paused, then
continued after a moment, "You know, I'm really glad."

    "Glad?" I echoed, "what about?"

    "About this. Having one leg, I mean." she explained, then
added, "I never thought I'd feel this way, but that was before I met
Felicia. I owe it all to her."

    "I'm sure she'd be flattered to hear you say that, but I reckon
she'd just say that you're the one who made the changes, not her."

    "I know, she would!" Christina giggled, "And I suppose it's
true. It would never have occurred to me, to look on it as an
adventure."

    "What do you like most?" I asked, to keep her talking.

    "I don't know what I like most, really. It's nice to feel
different and special, but I like the way it gives me all kinds of
new sensations, too."

    "What sort of sensations?"

    "Of having one leg, silly! And of being on crutches, and having
a stump, and all that sort of thing. I like those."

    "Felicia does, too. In fact, she almost recommends it!"
 

    I called James, he consulted Nicola, and I talked with Felicia,
and between us we picked out four guys who seemed possible, and six
more who might also suit.

    We decided that it would also be fun to have a small
costume-party for the six of us, as a kind of multi-player version
of a red-envelope game. Of course, it would, (at least initially) be
more decorous since it wouldn't be intended to lead, directly and
without passing Go and not stopping to collect 200, to the bedroom,
but would instead be a way of checking out our prime candidate, whom
Nicola assured us was just as keen on amputees as James or I.

    Felicia talks the idea over with Nicola and Christina, and they
decide on a theme. They refuse to tell James of I what it is, and
insist on strict adherence to the rules of a red-envelope game.

    The envelopes for the first game told us that three Greek
Heroes are called to assist Crutcha, Legesis and Amputas, the
one-legged Sorceresses, who have been bewitched by a powerful Demon.
They cannot let the sun's rays fall on them until they are released
from the spell by the chanting of some secret words by a mortal man,
lest they be turned to stone. They await in a refuge in the Northern
Mountains.
 

    What is the One, each part of which have two, that has three
members, which once had four and now are five, with six supports,
and nine places? Riddle me that?
 

    The answer is this: The One is the Sisterhood of the Sacred
Tripod. Each Sister has two crutches. There are three Sisters. Each
once had four limbs, but now have two arms, two crutches and one
leg, making five. There are six crutches, and those, together with
the single foot each Sister has, touch the ground at nine places.
 

    What is the Sacred Tripod?
 

    The Sacred Tripod is formed by the three Sisters of the Tripod.
Each Sister has one of the Legs of the Tripod, and no other. Each
Sister is sacred because she is always accompanied by both her other
Sisters through the Gift of the Crutches.
 

    What is the Rite of the Crutches?
 

    The Secret Ritual of the Sisterhood of the Tripod. Each Sister
gives one of her crutches to each of her other Sisters. The crutch
given represents the Sister, and through this Rite, each Sister is
always accompanied by both of her other Sisters, no matter where she
may be.
 

    Who are the Little Sisters?
 

    Those who have the accepted the Great Void, and have partaken
of the Lesser Rite, but not in the Rite of the Crutches.

       

    Where is the Great Void and what is the Lesser Rite?
 

    The Great Void is the absence of a leg or an arm. The Lesser
Rite is the exchange of the Empty Shoe between a Sister of the Left
and a Sister of the Right.
 

    Who are the Other Sisters?
 

    Those who have the Great Void, but who cannot partake in either
the Rite of the Crutches, or in the Lesser Rite.
 

    ***
 

    The second game was the next day, and to start it, we males
were sent out for a long walk on the hills. We were given three red
envelopes in a larger one, which contained a piece of paper which
told us that we were travelers and that we would find refuge for
the night at the convent in the village. Our individual, smaller,
envelopes contained such personal details as we might need to know.

    'The Convent of Our Ladies of Saint Tristana' said the sign on
the door. The three weary travelers, who had been in danger of
being trapped on the open moor after sundown, knocked on the door of
the small stone building, grateful for the small amount shelter from
the storm given by the deep eaves. Our eyes blinked in the sudden
brightness as the door is opened. Inside, one holding a pile of
clean towels are three nuns, dressed in black habits, with starched
wimples.
 

    We squeezed inside as quickly as we could and slammed the door
fast, shutting out the awful weather. Each of us stripped off our
coats and took one of the proffered towels. As I rubbed my face dry,
something about the way one of the nuns moved caught my attention. A
sort of tiny hop. I stopped drying my hair and looked at her. She
looked at me and smiled. "Welcome to the Convent of Saint Tristana.
I'm Sister Portia. This is our Mother Superior, Sister Dextra, and
this is Sister Lefta"

    "Saint Tristana?" I echoed, "Forgive me, but I've never heard
of her."

    "Not many people have," answered one of the other nuns, adding,
"She lived in Italy, in the sixth Century, and was martyred by the
Goths. We're a very small order, however, because we have an unusual
rule concerning entrants to our Order, and very few qualify."

    "What's the rule?" asked James.

    "Postulants to our Order have to have the Mark upon them. Our
Patron Saint died a martyrs death when her legs were cut off. She
died of loss of blood. The Mark is to be without a leg, or an arm.
We three are the only members, at the moment, but we're hoping to
gather more soon."

    "I can see that all three of you are using crutches." remarked
David.

    "Well, you can't really hop in a habit!"

    "And since you all seem to have two arms, I suppose you're all
one-legged." James said, continuing, "I'm curious, though. Did you
lose your legs before you joined your Order, or afterwards?"

    The three nuns laughed, "Oh, before!" Sister Lefta said,
"Though I suppose it would be possible for someone without a Mark to
wish to join us?" she looked at the Mother Superior, who answered,
"Not unless she had the Mark. The rules are quite clear on that."

    "Yes," replied Sister Portia, who was sitting beside me, "but
all it says is that she must have the Mark upon her when she joins.
It doesn't say that she couldn't want to join, then have the Mark
put upon her."