Lisa

 

 Lisa

It had been a special favour towards my mother, who had taken care of me so well during the last three months that I went along. The odour, the noise, the excitement when we entered the gymnasium were very familiar to me. I had had this sensation just before an important match many times, but this was the first time that I was a spectator, not a player in the game of volleyball that was about to begin. The crowd were nervous for the game to begin, I heard the dull thudding of balls hit by the players in preparation of the game. I huddled closer into my wheelchair and tried to ignore the stares of the people we passed. My mother pushed my chair to the front row and parked me there, alongside a considerable amount of other wheelchairs in which other handicapped people sat. The man in the wheelchair next to mine smiled at me and said that the match was about to begin. I nodded and said thank you. A quick glance told me that he probably was a paraplegic: his legs were thin and motionless. I saw the man looking at my body and shivered. There was a time when men did not have a quick look at me and then away, embarrassed as they realised that this pretty girl in the wheelchair had no legs. There was a time when they took their time to look me over, from my face often partly hidden by my thick blonde hair, along my large breasts to my long legs. Now they had one look at me, saw the two round stumps halfway my thighs where my legs used to be and they turned away, confused or disgusted. My mother had taken a seat just behind me. She put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. She probably knew what I was thinking right now. It had been a terrible time for me and my parents. It was hard to imagine that only four months ago everything was wonderful: we were happy, healthy, my father's company prospered and I was about to graduate from highschool. I divided my time between studying, I was a good student, and playing volleyball on a semi professional basis. My team was ranked first in the national league. I loved both, I loved solving theoretical problems and I very much enjoyed putting on my sportswear and surrender myself completely to the game of volleyball, which I consider to be the most beautiful game to play and to watch.

Then my world was shattered. On my way home from a training session I was asked to give directions to a man sitting in front of a van. When I lowered my head to talk to him he grabbed me by the neck and stuffed a rag saturated with chloroform in my face. I was unable to escape and had to inhale the chloroform. I lost consciousness and was dragged into the van that sped away. Later that evening my parents received a ransom note: my father had to pay an incredible amount of money to get me back. It was much more than he possibly could come up with, my father is a self made man and we weren't that rich. Still, my father tried everything to find the amount of cash that was needed and he almost succeeded because he was aided by the manager of the local bank, who was a close friend. But it had taken time and my abductor had lost his patience. I was there when he called my father for the last time. I had been laying blindfolded, chained to a bed with a filthy mattress on it in a cold room. Every once in a while I heard the man making short phone calls apparently to my father and once my head was pulled up by the hair and I had to say a few words into the receiver. Oh, how I had longed to be home again when I heard my father's anxious voice. But I was not allowed to talk to my father, my abductor took the receiver away from my mouth. I was allowed to go to the bathroom twice a day and I was given a little food, not nearly enough because I am a big girl. Used to be a big girl. The last phone call was the prelude to the worst hours of my life. I heard the man getting more and more angry when my father apparently tried to gain some time to get the ransom. He was shouting that he had had enough, that time was up and that my father would never see his daughter again. He had slammed down the receiver and my whole body became rigid when I felt that he sat down next to me on the bed. He started to speak in a slow whisper: "You know I kind of like you, you know? I hate to do this, but your father double-crossed me now for the second time. We used to be business partners a couple of years back. I remember you, you were just a little girl then, with a lot of blonde curls. You sure grew up, didn't you?" I felt his hands going over my body, but I was helpless, the chains were short and prohibited any movement. His hands started caressing my breasts and I started to cry, tears running down from under my blindfold. "Look at those large boobs", he said. "And the rest of your body so lean. But you are a sportswoman, aren't you? Well, that's going to change!" And he laughed a horrible laugh. "But don't fear," he continued. "I'm not going to kill you. It's your father I want to punish for cheating me. We were going to be rich, you know? But he smarttalked me out of it and put the police on my tail. So I was sent to jail and he became rich! But he 'll pay, if not this time than the next. You have a little brother, haven't you? I'll teach him a lesson he won't forget and next time he won't take so much time to pay me." He stroked my hair and said to me: "You will be the lesson. Every time he sees you he will remember his mistake." By now my whole body was shivering. What was he up to? He started whispering again: "Listen very carefully, your life depends on it. I am going to sedate you now, but you will wake up in a couple of hours. As soon as you wake up, phone 999, ask for an ambulance and tell them to come to this motel, the address is near the phone. Understood?" I nodded, but didn't under-stand why I had to ask for an ambulance. Why was I not to phone the police, or my family? I had no time to think of anything else. I felt the sharp prick of a needle and lost consciousness.

They told me later what the man must have done next. He had taken two lengths of very strong copper wire and put one end around each of my thighs, just above the knee. Then he had taken a set of pliers and had tightened the wire by twisting the ends around each other until it was very taut and cut into my flesh. A couple of twists more and the blood supply to my legs had been cut off by the pressure of the wire on my veins. Then he had unfastened the chains that had kept me prisoner and had left me lying on the bed. My legs turned white and my thighs grew twice their normal size and got purple. I hadn't felt anything until a few hours later when I woke up. Because of the excruciating pain in my legs and the way they looked I naturally had tried to pull the wire from my legs, but it was embedded firmly so I couldn't touch it and of course I was loosing my strength fast. I remember that I fumbled for the phone on the nightstand and that I dialled 999 but I don't remember having spoken to someone. My vision became blurred and everything turned black. Later I was told that the operator could hardly hear me. He kept saying to me to speak louder, but I had been unable to. When he knew the address he had asked me what room I was in, but he had gotten no answer. He had sent an ambulance anyway and they had to try every room before they found me.

Suddenly the people around me started to applaud. The game had started.

I watched at the pathetic struggle of 12 girls to play the game I had once been so fond of. If my mother had not insisted I never would have gone to see such a miserable spectacle. I turned around in my chair and wanted to ask my mother to take me away, but she was involved in a conversation with an elderly gentleman, who smiled at me. I turned back and watched a girl, sitting on the floor hit the ball awkwardly. The service failed miserably, the ball didn't even reach the net. I thought of the way I used to serve, jumping in the air to give the ball extra velocity, the team on the other side of the net anticipating the force of my service. The other team had the ball now and again a service failed. There was no booing from the crowd, although not a single point had been scored so far.

The ball is returned to the home team and the six girls change position sliding themselves over the ground while sitting on their butts. Some drag their useless atrophied legs along, other girls are able to move swifter because they have one or two legs amputated, just like her. She tries to envision herself amidst those crippled girls and shivers. No way that she would ever be in a team training for the Paralympics...

I again tried to draw my mother's attention, but she bent over and introduced me to the gentleman sitting next to her. His name was de Vries. She told me that he was the sponsor of the team that had just now scored their first point. "What do you think of my team?" he asked, "I hear that you are an expert." I hesitated. Should I tell the truth? I decided to be diplomatic. "Considering the fact that they are all seriously handicapped, I expect they're alright," I said. The gentleman beamed. "It's the new coach, you know," he said. "I just hired him and he has some big plans. He says we will win the Paralympics if I let him have his way. I think that's just what I'm going to do." As if he had an afterthought, he asked, after having shot a quick glance at my stumps, covered in cut off and sewn up jeans: "Why don't you join the team? You would be a wonderful asset!" I shuddered involuntary. "Not for the world," I said. I imagined myself sitting there in the middle of the crowd, everybody able to see my stumps, dressed in white stumpsocks just like the other amputated girls. I thought of trying to play the game sitting down, not being able to jump high in the air to smash the ball. I felt tears pricking behind my eyes and, for a moment, felt very sorry for myself. "Why not?" insisted Mr de Vries. "I bet you can still hit the ball to the far end of this hall." I couldn't resist and said: "Of course I can!" From the corner of my eye I saw my mother smile smugly. At that moment I knew I had been set up. My mother had planned all this! She wanted me to join this pathetic team end had arranged this so-called casual conversation! I grabbed the wheels of my chair and started to turn away. "Goodbye Mr de Vries!" I said and manoeuvred myself away as quick as I could.

The people next to her see the beautiful girl pushing the wheels of her chair hard in order to get away quickly. With every powerful stroke of her arms the two round, 25 cm long stumps of her legs are slightly lifted into the air. The stumps appear to be exactly equal in length and do not taper towards the end. Her blonde hair dances on her shoulders and her large breasts sway underneath her sweater.

My mother caught up with me just as I was trying to hold open the door and going through it at the same time. She helped me and stopped me. "I'm so sorry" she said. "I thought you might like playing again. I see you sitting in the house all day, loosing your form and being bored. I just wanted you to have a look and think it over." I felt disadvantaged, having to look up to my mother while I talked to her. It was the same in any situation where the other person was not sitting down. I used to be as tall as or even taller than most people. In a situation like this I always felt like if I was a child again.

In the end, of course, she consented. Her mother convinced her that she at least could go and talk to the new coach, that would not mean that she had to join the team! She made an appoint-ment with the coach, whose name was Jacobs and her mother brought her to the gymnasium which was the home base of the lady Paralympics volleyball team. She asked her mother to leave and pick her up in an hour or so, and wheeled inside. She was met by a handsome man of about forty who introduced himself as Ralph Jacobs.

He asked me to come into his office and took his seat behind a desk. I rolled my chair in front of it and secured the brakes. I looked at his face and waited for him to start. "I remember you," he started. "I saw you play, you were quite good. I liked your smashes." He was silent for a while. Then he apparently had made up his mind: "Let's not beat around the bush. Sitvolleyball has nothing in common with the able-bodied sport. It's pathetic and no fun to watch. If you are going to play you will not even be half as good as you used to be." He paused and waited for my reaction. I was thunderstruck. "I couldn't agree more!" I managed to say. "But what's the reason for me being here then?" He laughed, and said that that was something completely different. "There is a rich man who wants to pay me and a couple of vertically challenged girls to play a game, so why not accept it?" I recognised the words "vertically challenged". They were an American euphemism for short people. This man used the words to describe people who, like me, had their legs amputated. I was a short person now, indeed. From my head to the tips of my stumps I measured only 1.20 meter now. It was a rude remark and I disliked him for it. He saw my face and started to laugh. "You'll have to get used to these kind of things, Lisa," he said. "It's better to be blunt than to weigh every word you say. You have two stumps instead of legs, everybody can see that and you are not getting them back and we might as well be honest about it, don't you agree?" In a way, he was right. So I nodded and decided to give him another chance. "So you're only doing this for money?" I asked. He smiled. "Well, yes, money is an important factor, but there are other things as well. For instance: I get to meet pretty young girls, don't I?" I decided not to persue this line of inquiry. "How can you persuade me to join the team? They play lousily, they can't even manage a service!" "That's precisely the reason why you are going to join us. You want t show us that you can still play a lot better than the rest. You are itching to lay your hands on that ball again and hit it as hard as you can!" I looked at him and knew he was right. I missed the game so terribly, that even now, maimed, I wanted to play again. "I'll get used to the people staring at me." I thought. I'm sick of sitting around the house all day. "I think that you've reached a conclusion," the coach said and watched my face. I hadn't realised that tears were running down my cheeks. I wiped them away angrily and accepted the handkerchief presented by the coach. "Alright", he said. I need to know a lot of you before I can accept you in my team. I'm going to ask a lot of questions, some of them you might not like. Still, I want straight answers. First question: how long are your stumps?" Momentarily, I was stunned. No one had dared to ask me such a question. No one had ever brought up the subject, let alone asked for details. But I recovered quickly. I did not want this man to get the better off me. "Twenty-six centimetres" I answered. "They are exactly the same length?" "Yes." "Very good, I'll need to see them later on. First some more questions. Do you always use your wheelchair, or do you go about the house sitting on your butt?" I answered that my mother didn't want me to bring my wheelchair from the street into the house. She was afraid the tires would stain the carpet. I changed chairs when I entered the house, but if I was alone in the house, which happened rather often , I didn't bother to climb into another chair. I let myself slide on the floor, held my stumps in a right angle in front of me and lifted my body with my hands, landing on my buttocks and moved my body in this fashion around the house. "Very good", he mumbled, and made some notes. I was thinking whether I had heard him right. Did he really say that he wanted to see my stumps? I swallowed and got very hot. How could he say that? Nobody had seen the ugly stumps, scarred and still red, only the surgeon and the nurses in the hospital where they had taken me. Meanwhile, Ralph continued his questioning: "Can you stand up on your stumps, walk on them?" I must have looked astonished, because he started to explain: "You are required to do so, if you want to be part of my team! The scarring will heal and if the surgeon has done a good job, there will be no nerve-endings at the tips of your stumps, so they will not hurt if you put weight on them. You will learn to stand on your stumps and even walk a few paces!" He continued: "You are very fortunate that both your stumps have the same length. One of the other girls had to have an operation to make her stumps even in length!" Now, please take off your jeans and let me have a look at your passport to the Paralympics!"

The coach moved around his desk confidently and Lisa started to undo the button of her jeans. She zipped down the zipper and pulled the trousers down her hips. She lifted one buttock first, than the other and shoved the pants forward until they lay on her thighs. There she stopped, it would be very easy to take them off now, just a few centimetres to go. She breathed in and pulled the jeans out. There they were, her round stumps, still red and sore, scars running over the round tips. They quivered and goosebumps appeared on the white skin. Unconsciously, she clenched her thighs together. She looked down and hid her face in the curtains of her hair. The coach was now kneeling beside her. His eyes had registered the swaying of Lisa's large breasts under the fabric of her sweater while she wriggled out of her jeans. He touched her right stump, gently, and then the other. Tears dripped down from Lisa's hidden face and fell on her bare thighs, that ended so abruptly.

I couldn't believe that this was really happening: here I was, sitting in my wheelchair while a stranger was having a close look at what I felt to terribly ashamed about. Suddenly I thought of the panties I was wearing: which one did I choose this morning after my shower? The old frayed ones or one of my new pairs? What a silly thing to think of in such a situation. My face must have been crimson. Not even when I was able-bodied had a man touched my thighs. I was still a virgin. Ralph stood up and went back to his place behind the desk. Quickly I wriggled into my cut-off jeans again. "There's a lot to do before you will be strong enough to play," he said. We have to strengthen the muscles in your thighs. You need them to move around and to push off." He was very businesslike now, and I was glad. He was writing something on a piece of paper. I want you to go to this orthopaedic shop. There they will measure you and make special stump-pads that will fit you like a glove. They are made from linen and leather and they protect the tender skin on your stumps. You will be able to stand up and do a few steps." I looked at him disbelievingly. "Really, you will walk again! The only thing is, that your steps will be smaller and you will waddle a bit. They will also provide you with a set of short crutches, then ones that have a small padding to put under your armpits. You need to walk with them as much as possible in order to get back your strength. You will learn to use them very quickly. You'll want to get rid of your wheelchair in no time!" I had been listening to him with mounting disbelief. "Do you really think that I 'm going to walk with crutches, on my stumps? You must be crazy! I'd die of shame, everyone looking at me hobbling along!" "Aren't they looking now?" retorted the coach. "Ever since your accident people are staring at you, whether you are in a wheelchair or not. And they will always keep doing it, you should know. But if you learn to walk on crutches, you'll look strong and agile. They will not see an invalid crouching in her chair, waiting for someone to push her around." It was very difficult for me to admit it, but there was truth in what he said. I tried to imagine myself, crutching along and I shivered. Oh, how people would stare at me, children ogling me and asking their mothers what's that strange lady doing? On the other hand, I did have a tendency to crouch down in my wheelchair, inert, waiting for someone to push me. I decided to pay a visit to the orthopaedic shop and decide there if I was going through with this or not. The coach was talking again. He said that as soon as I had my gear, I was to report to him again and my training would begin.

That night, alone in her bed, she thought of what had happened that day. A man had actually looked at her stumps! She pulled the sheets away and looked at her stumps poking from under the hem of her night-gown. They were perfectly round, like another pair of breasts, and soft to the touch. She stroked the smooth surface and felt the ridges of the scars that ran alongside the stumps. She remembered the first moment she had woken up after her abduction. The joy of seeing both her parents, but at the same time the strange sensation in her legs. They had told her as gently as possible that the surgeon had had to amputate both her legs. The blood supply had been cut off for more than three hours and her legs couldn't be saved. The surgeon had taken special care to locate the scars at the side of the stumps, so there would be no pressure on them. Painkillers had taken care of most of the pain, but she felt so ashamed all the time. She had the feeling she was constantly being watched and, sadly, this was often the case: it was not a common sight to see a beautiful young girl without legs. She lay down, watched the ceiling and thought of herself playing volleyball again. Her last thoughts, before she fell asleep, were of the coach, the first man to see her underpants..

The next day she took a shower, as usual sitting on the bathroom floor and while she towelled herself dry, thought of the previous day. She had washed very carefully, because she had to go to the orthopaedic shop, they had to take her measures and she wanted to smell good. Sitting on the bath rug she rigorously towelled her back and her large breasts swung wildly up and down and from side to side. She dabbed the sensitive skin of her stumps and made sure that they were completely dry. The nurse in the hospital had told her that she had to take special care because the skin of her stumps was very sensitive and could cause considerable discomfort if not cared for properly. The nurse had told her that this was even more important for people who wore a prosthesis, but that she at least needn't worry about that. Still naked, she moved in the direction of her wardrobe. She moved by putting her hands next to her stumps, than lifting her body by stretching her arms and than swinging her butt forwards, between her stretched arms. This process was repeated until she was where she wanted to be. She reached up and opened the door of her wardrobe. There used to be a jumble of shoes on the floor of the wardrobe, now they were gone, thoughtfully removed by her mother who knew that her daughter would never need them again. On one of the shelves she found a couple of shorts and shirts she used to wear playing volleyball. They all had the number 15 on them, her number when she played in the competition. She also found her kneepads she used to wear to protect her knees when landing on the floor. She held them in her hands and examined them. Then she threw them on the floor. These too she did not need any more. She took out a clean pair of shorts, a shirt, the cut-off jeans of course, with the ends sewn closed, her bra and a clean sweater. Soon she had finished dressing and headed for the door.

Her mother had breakfast ready and wanted to lift her daughter up in her chair. But Lisa refused and said that from now on, things would be different. She wanted to try to do everything by herself. Evidently the words of the coach had struck a chord. She sat in front of the kitchen chair and thought of the way she was going to solve the problem. Her mother looked anxiously as she saw her daughter put one hand and elbow on the tabletop, one hand and on the seat of the chair. Lisa tried to pull her body up but didn't succeed. Even the diminished weight of her legless body was too much for her. Her mother helped by putting one hand under her daughter's armpit and pulled along with Lisa's next try. Now she succeeded! "I need to work on that", said Lisa panting. "Mark my words, in two weeks time I will be able to do it alone." Her mother shoved her chair forward so that her daughter could eat her breakfast. "Your father left early," said her mother. Lisa knew that her father was avoiding her. He felt guilty of his daughter's mutilation and couldn't bear to see her. It made her very sad, but she hoped that it would change in the future. Her mother said it would.

"Can you bring me to the orthopaedic shop?" asked Lisa and her mother was glad to oblige. After all, it had been her idea in the first place that her daughter should start playing in the Paralympics team. She was glad that Lisa apparently was going through with it.

Her mother pushed her in her wheelchair to the car and opened the door for her daughter. Lisa manoeuvred her wheelchair next to the open door and transferred her weight from the chair into the car in one fluent movement. She felt satisfied that this was something she could perfectly do on her own. In the orthopaedic shop, they were welcomed by a woman in a white coat, who showed them to a couple of seats at the back of the store. Lisa remained in her wheelchair and stared at all the things on display: crutches made from wood and metal, wheelchairs, artificial legs and arms and many more items. The lady of the shop asked them why they had come and Lisa explained that she needed special padding for her ... (she still found it difficult to mention the word so she pointed in the direction of the seat of the chair where her stumps lay). The lady said that she understood. "Is it for playing some kind of sport?" Lisa answered volleyball and wondered if she had to explain that she meant volleyball for the handicapped. But the lady seemed to understand. "You know I'll have to measure the size of your stumps?" Lisa nodded. "Please come with me to the fitting room," said the lady and beckoned Lisa who pushed against the rims of her wheelchair and followed. Her mother wanted to go with her, but Lisa motioned her to stay. In the fitting room the lady in the white coat asked her to undress. For the second time in 24 hours Lisa wriggled out of her short jeans. The woman put a measuring tape around each of Lisa's stumps and measured their length. Lisa blushed fiercely when the woman touched the lips of her vagina through the thin material of her panties. When the measures were written down on a form, Lisa mentioned her other request: the crutches. The orthopaedist was not surprised and told Lisa that some more measuring was required. She put the end of the measuring tape under Lisa's armpit and while she did that asked her which kind of crutches Lisa preferred. Lisa explained that she wanted to have wooden ones that had a cushion under her armpit. "If you are going to use those, you are going to need stumpshoes as well, did you realise that?" Because Lisa didn't know what she was talking about, the lady explained: "Obviously you can't walk without protection. We are going to make stumpshoes for you. The are made of leather and you put them on just like shoes. They have a strong leather base and are fastened by a cuff around your remaining thigh. The cuff is pulled tight by a shoestring. If you wear those you will not have to be afraid of stepping into sharp objects or of getting wet." Lisa tried to envision herself wearing those black leather things and hobbling along using the short wooden crutches. She shivered and again thought of all the people who would turn their heads to watch her go. "Can I wear my jeans with them?" she asked. "Not these ones, but you can wear shorts. But of course wearing a dress would be best, you have the figure for it! I'll show you some pictures of women in stumpshoes wearing a dress." She pulled a photo-album from a shelf and handed it to Lisa. Lisa opened it and saw page after page of maimed women, all wearing a prosthesis (there were some pictures of women wearing two!) or walking with crutches. There were a couple of photographs of women who, like her, had no legs. They sat in a wheelchair or stood upright with the crutches under their armpits. Three of them wore dresses, under the hem of their dresses you could see the black, shiny leather of their stumpshoes. Lisa thought that they resembled little girls who had put on their mother's dress. She doubted if she was ever going to wear a dress. She went back to the photographs of women with only one leg and wished she was like that. If she'd be only missing one leg, she could still walk around, wearing an artificial leg, she would not stand out in a crowd. But fate had dealt her a cruel blow...

The lady had written down all her measures and told Lisa that they would start working on her stuff as soon as possible. It would be ready within a week. Lisa left the shop in her wheelchair and thought: "How much time will I be spending in this chair once I have started training in my new team? "

After 5 days, the woman of the orthopaedic shop phoned: everything was ready, she could come and collect it any moment. Lisa was rather excited when the same woman as the last time again took her to the fitting room and got a cardboard box from a shelf and got out what was in it. "Let's start with your stumpsocks, never forget to put a pair of these on. As you see they are made of a very soft fabric and they have only one seam. Take care that that seam is always on the back. They were especially made for you. There are ten sets, wear a clean set every day." She took out a container with talcum powder. "Make sure your stumps are completely dry, then put on some of this. Sprinkle it over your skin. Let's try them on, please remove your pants." I did what she asked and felt the cold leather of the seat of my wheelchair beneath my bare thighs. She gave me the talcum powder and I sprinkled some of it on top of my stumps, it felt soft and cool. "Make sure there is plenty on the underside as well," she ordered. I lifted my stumps, one by one and put the talcum powder on the bottom, then on the front as well. I felt the ridges of the scar tissue and made sure there was some powder there as well. "Very well. Then put on the socks, please." I halted there. I felt a little dizzy. Was I really going to do this? I had grown used to giving as little attention as possible to my deformity. Now I had to look at the stumps, touch them, pay special attention to them. I wanted desperately just to forget that I had no legs, I didn't want to pay special attention to my stumps! But I knew that I would never get my legs back, and that I had to deal with being handicapped for the rest of my life. I took a deep breath and continued. I took the pair of socks she handed me and put on a sock first on my right stump, than on my left. I made sure that the seem was on the back. The woman crouched in front of my chair and looked closely, lifting my stumps one by one. "This is the way you always have to do it. Never leave a wrinkle or you will regret it, your skin will get irritated and maybe damaged." From the box she got a pair of pads that resembled the ones that I used to wear to protect my knees. They were made of white linen and rubber. I took one in my hand and examined it. It had a round bottom. The bottom was maybe three centimetres thick, and was connected to a linen shaft. The shaft had eyelets in them, just like on top of a sport shoe. Through they eyelets ran laces. Tentatively I put my right stump in the thing and pulled. The shaft fitted quite close around my stump and I pulled on the laces, from the bottom upward, just as I had done hundreds of time with my sport shoes when I still had feet.

At times like this she often asked herself the question: where are my legs now? did the hospital burn them, or were they buried somewhere and were they eaten by worms? Did a nurse lift them up after the operation and took them under her arm to the incinerator? Had they removed her shoes and socks first? She had not had the courage to ask someone in the hospital and no one had volunteered to give the information. So she did not know what happened to about twenty kilos of her own body.

When I had finished with the right one I put on the other one as well. They felt comfortable and reached almost to the tops of my thighs. Without thinking I moved my stumps in different directions. "Why don't you try to stand up in your chair?" asked the attendant. "Use the armrests of your chair to lift your body up and then slowly let your stumps bear the weight." I swallowed and did what she said. When I felt the weight increase I started to wobble, I had difficulty in maintaining my balance, but it did n't hurt, which I had been expecting. The padding and the way my stumps were laced in distributed my weight evenly, so the pressure on the sensitive parts was not too high. I was elated. It felt very strange to be "standing" again, but it was great.

Next came the stumpshoes. I looked at them apprehensively and didnÕt think that I was going to wear these contraptions in the near future. They were made of black, shiny leather and were much bigger than the white ones I had on now. I lifted them up: they were heavy. They resembled the pads I had on now, but there were shoestrings in the shafts and the bottom was made of profiled rubber. I declined the offer to try them on and asked for the crutches instead. They were made of dark brown wood, and were about a meter in length. They ended in a rubber tip. About ten centimetres from the end they forked, this was the place I had to put my hands. At the top there were wooden supports, covered with red leather. I was supposed to put those in my armpits. I made sure that the brakes were on and then, gently, lowered my body to the ground, until I was actually standing on my stumps! I had never done this before and I felt very insecure. I held on to my chair to support me, because my stumps trembled under the weight and my muscles were not strong enough to maintain my balance. One by one I took the crutches and, with much difficulty , put them under my arms. Finally they were in position and the attendant slowly pulled my chair away. There I was, standing free for the first time, the crutches bearing most of the weight. The orthopaedist instructed me what to do next: "Swing your body forwards, not too much, only ten centimetres, and put your weight on your stumps. Then, in one fluent motion, lift your crutches and put them in front of you, there you go!" Before I knew it, I was crutching around the room, the movement coming quite easily to me. I was a born crutcher! I could n't get enough of it and the smiling shop assistant had to ask me to stop: there were more customers to wait on. Embarrassed, I went to my wheelchair and the orthopaedist helped me climb into it. Reluctant-ly, I realised that I had to remove my sport shoes again, because I was still in my underwear and my cut-off jeans wouldn't fit if I kept wearing them. I removed the stumpshoes and the socks and while I wriggled into my jeans again, the lady of the shop instructed me to put the stumpsocks that I had worn into the laundry. "Never use the same pair twice without washing them. And come back here when you start using the leather shoes, they might need adjusting." She put all my things in the long cardboard box and put the box across my lap on the armrests of my chair. In the best of spirits I wheeled towards the front of the shop. "Wait till we get home, mama" I said. "I have something to show you!"

The lady orthopaedic walked behind the excited girl and felt a little sad. She had seen the girl's happiness when she realised that she need not spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair. But she knew that the people would stare even more at a girl without legs walking on crutches than if she were sitting in a wheelchair. In her excitement, the girl had not realised that her large breasts were swinging wildly under her sweater as she moved along on her crutches. She would very soon become aware of this side-effect. There were many men around who would stare at her and even make "funny" remarks.

In the next few days, Lisa practised walking with her crutches all day. Inevitably, she fell a number of times. The first time she fell flat on her face when the tip of her crutch was caught in the carpet. She forgot to let go of the crutches and was unable to protect her head. She fell on her face and her nose started to bleed. Her breasts hurt as well. The next time she slowly started to fall backwards. This time she pulled her head between her shoulders and was able to receive most of the impact on her shoulder by turning sideways a little bit while she was falling. She was learning very fast, and was sure that she was developing the muscles in her thighs, because every evening when she climbed into bed, they hurt. Soon she was able to "stand" on her stumps unassisted. Getting her crutches and putting them under her armpits became an easy action for her. She looked forward to meeting the coach again and fantasised the praise he was sure to bestow on her. In the house, she never used the wheelchair anymore but she had still not ventured outside the house. She needed to collect a lot more courage for that. Besides: she was not allowed to go outside on her sport shoes and the leather stumpshoes were still in their cardboard box. Lisa had not looked at them once.

The day arrived of her next appointment with the coach. Today she would meet the rest of the team. The evening before she had laid out the things she would need: shorts, stumpsocks and sport s-hoes, sportsbra and shirt. She decided to put everything on. She packed her sports bag with some extra things and her towel and hung it on her back. Her mother had sewed a sling on it, so she could wear the bag over her shoulder and was uninhibited by it while she used her crutches. Her mother drove her to the gymnasium and left her near the entrance, asking her to phone when she wanted her to come and pick her up again. Lisa wheeled to the coach's office but didn't find him there. She heard the familiar muffled sounds of a training session in practice and wheeled in the direction of the sound. The door to the playground was open but the entrance was blocked by a broad shouldered, very tall young man, who stood watching what was going on inside. "Excuse me," said Lisa and the young man turned around to face her. He stepped aside and smiled at the beautiful girl in the wheelchair. As usual, her face started to redden. This always happened when she first confronted someone, especially someone as handsome as this man. Immediately the familiar thoughts came to mind: "Why o why do I have to sit in this wheelchair. He is looking me in the eye right now, but in a second his gaze will wander downwards, he will see that I have no legs and he will be startled. Maybe he 'll start to stammer, or he 'll avert his eyes and he will try desperately to get away." But nothing of the kind happened. The young man kept looking at her face, extended his hand and introduced himself. "I'm John de Jong, the assistant coach. You must be Lisa." Lisa took his hand and shook it. She felt the strong muscles and the hard skin and knew immediately that he was a volleyball player. "Shall we go to the field?" said John, and he walked ahead of her. Lisa felt a warm glow in her stomach. He had not looked at her stumps, he had not offered to push her wheelchair and he had acted completely normal. She quickly started to wheel herself in pursuit. To her disappointment, the coach wasn't there. She was introduced to the rest of the team. There were three girls who, just like her, had no legs. Four girls had only one leg and one girl was a paraplegic. When the other girls realised who she was, they became very excited. "Now we are going to win the gold medal for sure!" They said. Lisa tried to calm them down, said that she was a recent amputee, not used to play any sport in her new condition. But they wouldn't listen and tossed her the ball. Lisa did a few exercises, not used to doing it while sitting down. Soon she felt more confident and hit the ball, not too hard in the direction of one of the other girls. The girl reacted awkwardly and missed it completely. She apologised and stood up on her one leg, hopping in the direction of the lost ball to retrieve it. A referee's whistle sounded and guiltily the one-legged girl sank to the ground and continued her way sliding along the ground, her good leg in front of her. Lisa had just learned rule number one: it is not allowed to stand up in sitvolleyball! "Well, that's a mistake I will not make" thought Lisa. Soon I discovered a strange paradox: in order to play the game reasonably well, it was not an asset to have one leg left! The girls who had both legs amputated were by far the best players, because they were not hampered by a remaining leg. Soon the one girl who was a paraplegic left the team: she was too slow and realised that she didn't fit in the team. A lot of my old skills returned, although I couldn't jump anymore. I did manage to "stand up" on my stumps for a short while when I was at the net to deliver a smash or to defend against one. I could even "waddle" a few steps without my crutches, but I only did this when nobody was watching. I was sure that it was an ungainly sight to see me "walking" like that, my hips and buttocks swaying from side to side, my arms stretched sideways to keep my balance.

After her first training session, she went to the dressing room and dallied a little before chan-ging. She wanted to see what the other girls did. The other players were totally uninhibited. Later they told Lisa that there was always a security guard near the door to keep peeking Toms out. Every once in a while there was one who wanted desperately to see some naked handicap-ped girls, but they didn't get far. There was a giant bath tub and within minutes one after the other the naked, maimed girls got in. Lisa watched their naked bodies, their stumps (most of them longer than hers), often scarred, their pubic hair, their breasts (most of them not as large as hers). She undressed, and self-consciously, went to the edge of the tub and let her body slowly into the water, she gasped when she felt the hot water on the sensitive skin of her stumps, but she wanted to be out of sight, so she continued until she was sitting on the bottom of the tub.

For Lisa, it was heaven to practice all day long in the secure environment of the gymnasium. She could move around freely, without having to think of how she looked in other people's eyes. The other girls in the team were fellow victims and the coach and his assistant were used to watch handicapped girls. With them, she felt completely at ease and wasn't ashamed when sometimes she was over-enthusiastic and ended up lying on her back, with her stumps flailing in the air. It was the coach that urged her to go outside and be independent of her mother. "Why does she have to bring you here every day?" he asked. "Can't you drive?" Lisa had looked at him angrily. "I have my driver's license if that's what you mean, but a tiny little something happened to me and I will not get very far not being able to use the brakes or the gas, will I?" The coach had laughed and told her that a car could be custom-built to fit any kind of handicap. "Look at Diana", he said. "She has her own car and she drives like a maniac!" He referred to on of the other girls on the team, who had lost her legs in a hurricane. Later the surgeons had to amputate her right hand as well, so she was a triple amputee. She used a hook instead of her hand. During the game she had some padding on her armstump. With this she could control the ball wonderfully. She was able to transform difficult balls into beautiful set-ups that Lisa could finish with a smash. Roberta had a red sports car, paid for by the insurance money, specially customised to her needs. The foot brake and gas handle were on the steering wheel, so she could manipulate them with her one hand while she steered using her hook.

Lisa thought of how it would be to be driving in her own car. She was rich enough to afford one! She had been properly insured, her father had taken care of that. Diana told her that first of all she needed to be registered as a handicapped driver, then she could find a way to buy a car and have it altered. She could get the form in the local post office.

Lisa decided not to involve her mother in her plans and also decided to use her trip to the post office as an experiment to find out how it felt to be among people on her crutches instead of in her wheelchair. She disliked it more and more having to be pushed by her mother, having to wait until her mother was ready, having to warn her mother every time she wanted to look into a shop window. She dreamt of being completely independent again, of leaving when she felt like it, of cruising down the streets in her own car, people only seeing her top half, not knowing that she had no legs.

That Saturday, no training had been planned. Lisa's mother was away on a visit. Lisa got from her wardrobe the simple black dress that she had only worn once, just before she was kidnapped. She laid it on her bed and took the cardboard- box from the bottom shelf. She opened it and got the leather stumpshoes out. She had to fight the urge to put them back again and she got very warm when she thought of what she was going to do. Was she really planning to put these things on and then go into town without her wheelchair? She powdered her stumps and put on a clean set of stumpsocks. Then, to postpone the inevitable, she put on her panties, her bra and the black dress. It still fitted perfectly and showed off her beautiful body. Finally, one, by one, she pulled the stiff, black leather of her stumpshoes over her stumps. She laced the shoestrings tightly and, with some difficulty because the material was much more stiff than the material her sport shoes were made of, got up until she was standing on her stumps. It felt really different from her sport shoes. She managed a few very short "steps" and sat down again. She looked at the ugly things just below the hem of her dress and stood up again, this time looking in the mirror of the opened door. She gasped. She saw her trained body, with the large breasts very prominent in her tight dress and she saw peeking from under the hem of her dress the shiny leather of her stumpshoes. She picked up her crutches, put them under her armpits and turned this way and that way, all the while looking at her reflection in the mirror. At last, she turned her back to the mirror, slipped her crutches from under her arms and sat down on her buttocks that were still sore from all the intensive training. Big tears welled from under her closed eyelids. "Why, o why did this have to happen to me? Why can't I just go out to town, as I used to do? Why do I have to summon all my courage to leave the house for a simple chore? Why do I have to bear the stares people for certain are going to give me. I will be so ashamed and still I desperately want to be independent, I have to do this."

I decided not to wear a coat, it was a warm day. For the third time I checked my purse: I had enough money, my bus ticket was in it and I had no more excuse to wait. I breathed in deeply and opened the front door of our house. I crutched myself out and closed the door behind me. My wheelchair stood waiting for me on the porch, but I neglected it. Carefully I dismounted the three steps and was on the garden path that led to the street. Once on the street, I quickened my pace and soon I arrived at the bus stop. There were two people waiting, both of them took a good look at me and then diverted their eyes. They didn't bother to say anything and when the bus arrived, hastened to get inside without one glance at me. The steps were quite high, but I was prepared. I put my crutches on the floor first and then, with some difficulty I put my hands on the lowest step and jumped, until my hands and stumps were on the same step. Then I repeated the process. The driver had watched me intently and closed the doors behind me as soon as I was inside. With difficulty I was able to remove my ticket from my purse without falling, because the bus was moving again. The driver reached down and took it, giving it a hard blow with his stamp. Very carefully I made my way to an empty seat. My face felt hot, because every single passenger was watching me as I made my way crutching along the path. Every now and then I had to grab a steel pole for support, because the bus lurched forward suddenly, or braked. I tried to look them into their eyes, but most people averted their eyes as soon as I looked them into the eyes. Some of them had an expression of pity on their faces, others reacted as if I had caught them out. But there were always one or two had had a look of revulsion on their faces. What did they think? Did they think I was filthy because I had no legs? Or did they think that a person like me shouldn't move around, be in public places? I probably will never know, but it always makes me nervous when I see such a look on people's faces.

I regretted my decision to go into town terribly, but there was no way to escape the bus, so when I had found a vacant seat I made myself as little as possible, and stared out of the window. Fortunately, I had to leave the bus at its final stop, so I could let all the other people leave before I moved from my seat and went out as well. In the town centre it was much busier than in my own neighbourhood. Here I was stared at constantly. I made my way to the post office and chose a line to wait in. It made me quite tired to "stand" there, waiting for the customer in front of me to finish. Another strange experience since I began walking on crutches was, that my nose and my eyes were always at the exact height of almost all male genitalia. Whenever I was in the middle of a group of people that was my point of view. In this queue I only saw the gleaming part of the trousers of the person in front of me. Suddenly I felt a hand touching my hair, I turned around as quickly as possible, but the man behind me stared straight ahead. I turned around again and for the second time someone touched my hair. Probably, my big bunch of blonde, curly hair couldn't be resisted. Luckily, it was my turn before it happened again. I immediately realised how a child must feel if it is sent away for an errand. When I reached the ticket window, I realised that the person behind it was only able to see the top of my head. I reached as high as I could on my crutches and asked for the form I needed. The attendant shook his head to me in order to explain that he had n't heard me. I looked up and saw the perforated hole in the centre of the glass. I couldn't possibly reach that high, so I tried to speak louder. To no avail. To my dismay, the man who had been standing behind me and who had probably been unable to withhold himself from touching my hair, came to my aid. He bent forward and repeated what I wanted through the hole in the glass. He accepted the envelope and gave it to me with a polite bow. I thanked him, feeling humiliated but knowing that without help I wouldn't have succeeded.

At home, I filled in the form, added a letter from my doctor and sent it away. Sure enough, two weeks later my new driving license arrived, at the inside it said that I was officially a handicap-ped person and that I was allowed to drive a car that was custom -made. I had had enough of trips into town for a while and phoned a company that was specialised in customising cars for the handicapped. I found the number in the Yellow Pages. They offered to send one of their employees and I accepted gratefully. He arrived the next evening and had brought with him a stack of brightly coloured leaflets, with a variety of vehicles with invariably smiling handicapped persons in them. He was quite new to the job, he avoided my eyes, tried not to look at my stumps and made numerous mistakes. He handed me a picture of a very big car that was customised for a very small girl, a dwarf. But tiny as she was, the dwarf had legs. I had to point it out to him that although I was I short person now, that I was not a dwarf. He was completely confused and dropped all the leaflets he had in his lap. He dropped to his knees to retrieve them, crawled around and when he looked up he found himself looking straight at my two stumps, twenty centimetres away. I probably should have laughed, or at least be amused, but I felt horrible. I remember that I wanted to make myself as small as possible, wanted to retreat from this embarrassing situation in which, as always attention was drawn to the missing parts of my body. With one exception, John the assistant coach whom I liked more and more, every single person I met only had eyes for my handicap, never for myself, as an individual. At last, the clumsy salesman got himself sorted out and we did business: they were to deliver within 14 days a brand new little car, red and equipped with manual controls. The young man assured me that it would only take me ten minutes to get used to it. I had almost forgiven him when he made the terrible mistake of asking me to call my father to sign the contract. I made it clear to him that: a. although I was an invalid I still paid my own bills, b. I was nineteen years old, no minor and c. my father did not live in this house anyway. He said he was terribly sorry, that he was "required" to ask the question, but I didn't believe him. I was glad when he left and started counting the days until my car would arrive.

From Lisa's diary

    In the morning, I slide from the bed, laying on my belly. I sit down on the floor and swing my body between my outstretched arms, hands flat on the floor, to the bathroom. The bathroom -floor is always cold. The thin material of my pyjamas cannot withstand the cold. On the floor sits the mug with my toothbrush and toothpaste. It used to be on the shelf beneath the mirror, but I can't reach that high.
    My buttocks get sore because I sit on them continuously.
    When somebody calls me, or my interest is drawn, I can never respond quickly. I have to put down what I was carrying in my hands, grab my crutches, or turn around laboriously.
    I always have to look up to someone when I'm talking.
    People often treat me like a child. When we are eating out they ask my mother what I'm going to have.
    I spend a lot of time sitting on the ground. I see a lot of filth cleaners obviously neglect.
    I never realised how big the distance can be between the steps of a staircase. And how many steps there often are!
    Last week my little nephew said: "Look, Lisa has four breasts, two on top and two below!" I think that the silence that followed was more embarrassing to me than the remark. And again, the focus was on that part of me that I liked least to be focused on.

The first moment I realised that things were not as ideal as they used was, when we saw John shouting at the coach. Gentle, kind John! How could it be? Training had become more and more professional. One by one the girls that were not very good disappeared and others, all of the double amputees, took their places. I was amazed that in a small country as ours, at least eight girls had lost both legs. Every now and then we became fanatical and forgot that we were engaged in a sportive event.

We smashed every opposition, they didn't stand a chance. The coach more and more encoura-ged rivalry among our own team. He organised races: which girl is fastest from one end of the field to the other, with or without crutches? John objected against this, when he trained us he wanted us to feel good. He put special emphasis on the team spirit and on the fun we ought to be having. I liked his company. He was always friendly, without being patronising, he was easygoing and a very good volleyball player. He often took the time before and after practice to talk with me, we talked very easily. I told him a lot about myself and he did likewise. At night, just before I went to sleep I thought of him, of his soft voice, his strong body and I fantasised that his hands were touching my breasts, his passionate kisses all over my body. But then, in my dream, he would reach the part of me that was missing, and he would turn away from me, embarrassed just like all the other people I met. I often cried and asked myself the same question: "Why me? Why had this had to happen to me?" I thought it was horrible when I heard the two men I admired shouting at each other. Slowly all the girls of the team slid their bodies in the direction of the two shouting men. When they realised that we were listening, they stopped, with considerable difficulty, I could see. Later I heard what it was about: the coach wanted to get rid of Diana, the triple amputee member of the team. John had opposed strongly and for the time being he seemed to have won. But for Diana the fun had gone out of it. We all appealed to her to stay and she did, but probably not for long. I took Diana home with me one day, to have dinner with us. After practice we went to the dressing room, and removed our sweaty clothes. I watched Diana as she removed the padding on the stumps of her legs with her single hand. She made little use of the round stump of her left arm. Still she was ready almost at the same moment I was. She had a beautiful body: a strong torso with a narrow waist and heavy breasts. They hung slightly and their pendulous weight caused them to sway in big arcs when she moved in the direction of the shower. She had a strange way of moving her body. She had to sit on her bum of course, just like me, but she could only use her single hand. She put her hand forward and then "hopped" her body around it. It was a very tiresome way of moving, but Diana was very strong and could go surprisingly fast. I followed her and we sat next to each other under the shower. I watched Diana while she let the hot water run down her body. The stumps of her legs were a bit longer than mine. Her thighs were strong, she had spread her stumps slightly and I could see the tuft of blond hair between her legs. She had closed her eyes and rubbed her body slowly with the stump of her arm. Her stump reached her vagina and she spread her legs a little more, when she suddenly realised where she was. She opened her eyes and looked at me. She smiled at me, was n't embarrassed. I smiled back at her and wondered how it would feel to be caressed by such a soft stump. I was looking forward to our dinner party that was to take place that evening. We dried ourselves and put on our clothes. The first thing Diana did when we came out of the shower was to dry her armstump, then put talcum powder on it and a white sock followed by the harness of her artificial arm. The harness went around her upper body and over her shoulders. She fastened the different straps with her remaining hand, sometimes using her teeth to put pressure on a strap. Soon she was finished. She opened and closed her shiny steel hook to make sure that it worked. What a sight: a naked young woman without legs and with a shiny steel hook where her left hand should have been! She continued to put on her clothes, now able to use her hand and the hook. I found the spectacle of the hard, shiny hook laying her soft, heavy breasts in the cups of her bra a beautiful, (and sexy!) sight. We both wore our stumpshoes now, she had brown ones that were clearly visible under her dress. I was amazed to see how she used her hook to tie the shoestrings. She had crutches, just like mine, but she had a modification on the left one, it had been altered so she could hold it with her hook. We crutched outside and climbed into my beautiful new car. I helped her put on the safety belt and started the engine. I looked at her, and down, and saw four stumps in a row on the seats of the car. Both our dresses had crept up and revealed the stumps, partly covered in stiff leather, two short ones and two long ones. I drove off.

It was a nice evening. My mother had cooked us a wonderful meal and I was fascinated by the dexterity with which Diana used her hook. She reached out with her hook to the delicate wineglass and for a moment I was afraid that it would be crunched, but nothing happened. She brought the glass to her mouth, took a sip and put it down again ever so gently. She told us about the hurricane that had cost her three limbs: she had been working in a building when the hurricane caused the roof to collapse on her. Her body head been buried by debris and it had taken rescue workers hours to get her out. By that time doctors had been unable to save her legs and a few days later her left hand had to be amputated as well. She told us of the horrible days that followed, when she had to learn to cope with the idea that she would be terribly maimed for the rest of her life. Her fiancŽe had moved to another part of the country, without explaining. Of course she understood the reason. He had been a very aesthetic kind of guy, who would be revolted by the idea of living with someone so horribly mutilated. Like me, she spent the first months in a wheelchair, an electric one, gaped at by everyone, trying to learn to do things with only one hand. They had given her a cosmetic prosthesis for her missing hand. The thing was ugly and useless. Her physical therapist had urged her first to let go of the wheelchair and get stumpshoes and crutches, later he had persuaded her to use a hook instead of her cosmetic, useless artificial hand. He showed her videos of people with hooks: it was astonishing what they were able to do with the seemingly crude appliances. Diana told us one image in particular had made a deep impression upon her: there was a young mother with hooks instead of arms. She had lost her arms in a railway accident. Diana saw the young woman taking care of her little baby, with the utmost care the little baby was lifted, washed and changed by the shining steel hooks. The baby was delighted and laughed merrily. In the last frames the mother had her baby on her hip, one hook around the child's waist. The tiny hands clutched the steel hook and her mother waived happily goodbye with the other. Since that moment, two years ago, she wore her hook and had become very clever with it. Lisa and Diana exchanged stories about the way people looked at them. Diana recognised Lisa's observation of people showing revulsion, she once had heard a man mutter: "I don't understand why they let her live." Diana was very sad that the coach wanted to get rid of her. Lisa urged her to stay and said that the other girls wouldn't accept her leaving. Lisa brought her friend home, and just before she slipped out of the car, she said to her friend: "I think John has a crush on you. If I were you I'd do something about it." Lisa was flabbergasted. John in love with her? A crippled girl, who would never make a complete wife? Diana must be joking! But Diana smiled a knowing smile and said that she was sure. Lisa drove back and could hardly sleep that night.

It had been true, John was in love with the beautiful legless girl. Whenever he could he watched her. He loved the way she moved, her beautiful blonde hair, often worn in a pigtail when she was playing, he loved the way her large breasts moved, he loved her shy smile, her modesty and above all: her two round stumps. He fantasised caressing them, altering his attention between her soft breasts and soft stumps. One day, pressed by Diana, he asked her out and for both of them it was heaven. They started dating on a regular basis and she took him home to meet her mother. Then tragedy struck again.

Every once in a while I was contacted by the police. They gave me the last progress reports in the investigation of what had been done to me. The last months there had been no progress and I think they had put my case in the box marked "Unsolved crimes". There was one detective who wouldn't give up. He had been the one sitting by my bed when I woke up for the first time. He had wanted me to give him every tiny detail that I could remem-ber. Later he had interviewed me for hours and I had grown to like him. He had told me that he had a daughter my age and was terrified by the idea that something like this could happen to her. This detective stuck to the case and finally came up with a very important clue. Somewhe-re, in another part of the country, an attempted kidnapping had taken place which resembled mine. This time the girl was rescued by a passing cyclist, who, very bravely, had jumped from his bike and had hit her abductor over the head with his bicycle pump. The kidnapper had let her go and had raced away in his van. The bicyclist had taken down the number of the car and later given it to the girl. The girl's father reported everything to the police and they had tracked down the number plate. It belonged to a big company, and the police were investigating who was using it at the time of the attempted kidnapping. My friend the detective had heard about this and had made a connection with my case. A young employee appeared to have been the one that had driven the car on an assignment the evening the girl was assaulted. The police questioned him and pretty soon he confessed: he had tried to abduct the girl a few days ago an had done the same to me, successfully... He told the police that he had received instructions to deliver me to a motel, not far away. There he was paid a large amount of money and he had left me there. He didn't know the name of the man that had hired him, but he had seen him once leaving the office of the director of the company he worked for. He gave a description of his appearance and the police transferred their investiga-tion to the company. The man who had abducted me made excuses over and over and said that he never would have kidnapped me if he had known what was going to happen to me. This was a lie of course, because only a few days ago he had tried to kidnap another girl. An interesting fact was, that this girl played volleyball as well...

It took the police only three days to find the man that was responsible for the terrible things that had happened to me. It was our coach. The director of the company had promised him a lot of money if he succeeded in assembling a winning team in the Paralympics. He had tried for six months with the girls he could find, but they were not good enough. So he decided to add a good player to his team, the only problem was that she was not handicapped... But he could take care of that. And he did, we know the rest. This man's ambition had cost me my legs, I would be a cripple for the rest of my life. It had caused my father to become an alcoholic and loose his job and the separation of my parents.

In a way it was a relief for me, finally knowing who was responsible for what had happened. But it sickened me to think of all the days I had spent in his vicinity, I had even admired him! Strange enough it did not cause me to stop playing volleyball, the reason was obvious: with coach in jail, John of course took over. We trained hard and won every game easily. Soon the Paralympics would begin and we were sure to win the gold medal. John and I made plans to be engaged, but we didn't rush things. We talked for hours on end and we both knew that there was no hurry. Our love was deep and genuine.

The bell rang and Lisa frowned: John wasn't supposed to pick her up so soon. "Never mind", she thought, and glad at the prospect of seeing her lover again, she made her way to the door. She was alone in the house and had just taken a shower. Her hair was still wet and she was dressed in her short dressing gown. She hesitated for a second: should she put something on? Her bare stumps were visible under the hem of her gown, but she shrugged her shoulders. John was used to see stumps. The stiff hairs of the doormat tickled her bare buttocks when she reached up to open the door. Imagine what must have gone through Lisa's head when she opened the door to see the grinning face of the coach. She tried to close the door, but he put his foot in and forced the door open. The poor crippled girl didn't have strength enough to stop him. Because a stupid administrative mistake had been made, the police had been forced to set free the coach. They were not allowed to detain him any longer, because the order to keep him in custody was not renewed. They tried everything, but the coach had a smart lawyer, who demanded his immediate release.

Lisa was knocked unconscious and taken to a remote place, a caravan on a deserted camping- site. She came to and had a terrible sense of dŽja vu. She was tied to the bed, naked, the mattress stank and she was cold and thirsty. Only this time she immediately recognised her kidnapper. She started to scream...

The coach had come to the conclusion that it was Lisa's fault that everything had gone wrong: she had been his star player, but she had been the reason that he had n't been able to get rid of Diana and then she had fallen in love with his assistant, while he had wanted her for himself. And now she was responsible for his arrest and he was probably going to be sent to jai because of her. It was obvious that somewhere he had lost all reason.

"Don't fear," he said to the trembling terrified girl and stroked her hair. "I'm not going to kill you, I'm just taking care that you will no longer the star player of the Paralympics volleyball team. Start thinking of another sport that you can play in the future, chess perhaps?" Lisa had jerked her head away when he stroked her hair and she felt utterly helpless. Her arms were tied to the bedpost and a belt tied her waist down to the bed. She tried to pull her hands free, to no avail. She wriggled with her buttocks but the only effect was, that the coach watched the movements of her naked pelvis and short stumps intently. He stretched out his hand and touched her left stump. She pulled it away from him, but then he grabbed both of her stumps and squeezed them. Lisa winced and started to cry. He let go of her stumps and then touched her left breast. Her large breasts lay flattened on her chest and Lisa was not able to move her body out of reach. The coach lost interest, looked at his watch and said: "Well, let's get on with it". He reached under the bed, and came up with in his hands a pair of pliers and a roll of copper wire. Lisa started to scream.

Two months later, Lisa sat in her chair, reading a book. She used both her shiny steel hooks to keep the book open on her lap. When she had finished a page it took her considerable time to turn it over, but she was patient. She heard the car on the gravel path and quickly shut her book and put it aside. She wriggled her buttocks forward until she slid down from the seat of the low chair she was sitting in. She was standing on her stumps now, she had her brown leather stumpshoes on. She reached with her right hook and retrieved one by one her short crutches. It took her a lot of time, but she succeeded in arranging the crutches under her armpits and connecting the magnetic clips of her hooks to the correct position on the crutches. Now she was able to slowly walk in the fashion she had learned. She was dressed in a red velvet dress, John's favourite. Her brown leather stumpshoes were visible when she swung her stumps forward and put them on the ground. From the short sleeves of her dress trusted out the two old fashioned prosthetics. They were made of wood, leather and steel and could be operated by moving the shoulders. The velvet of her dress was pulled taut by her large breasts, moving in the rhythm of her gait. John came in, kneeled and hugged his handicapped wife. She didn't let go of the crutches, but kissed him eagerly and pressed her body against his. Somehow they ended up in the bedroom and John helped her to undress. He undid the laces of her stumpshoes and threw them on the ground. Then he removed her stumpsocks and caressed the tender flesh of her thighs. She shivered, still not used to the feeling of someone else touching her maimed flesh. Carefully she stroked his hair with her hook. John reached behind her and unzipped her dress. It slid easily from her body and she sat on the bed, clothed in her panties, bra and the harness of her artificial arms. Watching the body of his wife, who looked away ashamedly, John undressed and sat beside her on the bed. It gave her a little consolation that he sported a large erection. This meant that he was not aesthetical-ly revolted by the sight of a quadruple amputee. She tentatively reached out with her left hook and touched his erect penis. It sprang up, caused by the contact with the cold steel. Hot tears welled from Lisa's eyes. "I'll never be able to touch you, put my arms around you, caress you. What kind of a wife am I?" "Why did you persuade me to marry you?" She thought back to the simple ceremony, how happy she had been when John ever so tenderly put the silver chain around her neck with her wedding ring attached to it. He kissed her and said: " You can touch me, caress me, put your arms around me. The only difference is, that they are not flesh and blood. But I love your hooks, I love your stumps, I love everything of you! And he kissed her again and again. He unbuckled the harness and she pulled free the short stumps of her arms. He put both her artificial arms on the floor and undid her bra. Her large breasts tumbled free and he buried his head between them. His wife was sitting propped up against the headboard of their bed and just managed to stroke his hair with her short stumps while he nibbled her nipples. John gently pulled his limbless wife from her sitting position until she lay on her back, watching her. He pulled her panties down and now she was completely naked. She lay there completely helpless and he was overwhelmed by love. He saw the red marks that were caused by the harness and stroked her skin. She moved her head and kissed his hand. He lay down beside her and started to stroke her body. The air was warm, so he didn't feel the need to pull the sheets over their bodies. When his fingers touched the lips of her vagina, Lisa started to breathe faster and she moved her hips against his. Her short legstump moved up and down and touched his still erect penis. Lisa closed her eyes and moaned softly, Then she opened them again and said: "Make love to me". John put his hands under her armpits and lifted her up, while he turned around and lay on his back. Gently he put her down until she was sitting astride him, one stump on each side. She was not able to keep her balance, so he held her in place. With a naughty smile on her face, she wriggled her hips until his penis slid into her moist opening. Again she moaned, harder now and began to move her hips. He hissed and felt his penis getting larger. Dreamily, she gyrated her hips, feeling him deep inside her. Her hair swung freely around her beautiful face and her big breasts moved slowly from left to right. Soon her pace quickened and her breathing became shallow and went faster. He moved in unison and felt his semen rise. "I can't hold it much longer," he whispered and she, moving faster, said: "Go on, go on!" When he couldn't hold it any longer, he arched his back, lifting his body up with her on top of it and came. She wriggled on for a second and then she came too, shouting incomprehensibly. He lowered her body until she was lying on him and they waited for their breathing to become normal again. He loved to feel her flattened breasts on his chest, to feel her short armstumps around his neck and he wanted to stay in that position as long as possible. They had almost fallen asleep, when she stirred and said in his ear: "Could you please help me to the bathroom, lover?" And of course he did, singing.

Albert Tall.

2-01-98