“I know what you’re into, and I wouldn’t be dating on a site for dev’s if I’d have a problem with it, okay?”
Her tone was a friendly kind of firm. And maybe he should have, he hadn’t quite expected that. She made sense though, making his prudence sound a bit silly. Happily, her expression changed.
“Let’s be relaxed. We’re two grown ups, we both know what this date is about, and apart from your being overly concerned, I think it’s going pretty well.”
“I guess you’re right,” he replied apologetically.
“Great, sorted out then?”
“Sorted out,” he nodded.
“Shall we consider the introduction finished too?”
“Fine with me.”
“And get to the point?” she added, looking relaxedly determined.
“You’re not beating around the bush, but okay,” he grinned.”Where you wanna start then?”
She took a moment, then looked at him. “I’ve dated enough devotees to know preferences tend to be specific,” she said. “And I can take the no-answer, but I do want you to honestly tell me whether you’re attracted to how I’m amputated.”
“That’s a relief then,” she smiled.
“I understand you want your dates to be into how you look, but no worries,” he said. “High upper thigh is actually my favourite.”
“I somehow had that impression when I saw you watch me come in, but just making sure I got that drooling stare right,” she chuckled.
His caught grin was sporting. “So it showed, eh?”
“With guys it always shows, even when they think it doesn’t.”
“Oh dear. I’d better watch out then.”
She grinned. And she played the game. “Depends on your plans, maybe…?”
So did he. “And on what you think of them…?”
“Then I’d say don’t watch out at all,” she replied, smiling with subtly dosed seduction.
“I will then,” he smiled. “But you’ve probably heard before it takes a bit of getting used to.”
“Yeah, I have,” she nodded. “But I’m a cut the crap kinda girl, so don’t hold back.”
“I’m already enjoying it.”
“You should. I’m fine with it,” she smiled.
“Have you always been?”
“Not in the beginning, obviously, but pretty fast, I’d say.”
“And how’re you looking at it, in general?”
“My in general is being stared at,” she replied. “So your sort makes a nice change. I won’t deny I love to be found sexy.”
“And you are, very much. Even without your perfect stump you are.”
“Mmm, you’re a fast learner,” she winked. “I like that. And thanks, although you’re still to find out… if it’s perfect…”
His smile was more relaxed now, but the way she put this made his heart beat over. After all, ‘being to find out’ sounded very much like he was actually going to, and the prospect of it caused a wave of excitement.
This meet-up felt very much as her being in charge, but he didn’t mind at all. If this had been a first date for her as well, things would likely not have proceeded as smoothly as they were, so he welcomed her experience and ease. He also welcomed her relaxed disregard of what he’d most not looked forward to: seeing her not find his attraction a taboo at all was perhaps his greatest relief of now.
His erotic liking for amputees had always been a closet thing, and only since he’d been divorced he’d started to explore it further. A month ago, he’d become a member of the dating site that’d led to this encounter. He’d looked around a little first, to get acquianted to a world where things he’d always kept hidden were suddenly accepted. Not even the greatest secret wish of his life, to have sex with a high leg amputee, was frowned upon. He’d assumed it from the numerous profiles of men looking for the same, and he’d seen it confirmed when women started giving likes to his.
The woman he was sitting opposite now, had been one of the first to like his About me. She’d also been the least reserved and most open-minded. It was mostly men expressing intentions of sexual encounters on the dating site, but her profile didn’t exclude it either. And because of her high missing left leg, she was definitely the prettiest.
“Judging from what I’ve seen, you won’t be far off,” he winked back.
“So you have no preference as to how it looks? Some have, very strongly too.”
“My thrill is in the amputation being high. If it is, I like a scarred stump as much as a shapely one.”
“Mine is both, I’d say. Big scar and shape holding up nicely.”
“And how long has it been holding up? I now realise I never asked.”
“It struck me you never did,” she smiled. “It’s usually about the first thing I get asked.”
“And the answer is?”
“I was twenty-two. If you read my profile, you can do the math now.”
“Fifteen years then,” he replied, demonstrating he had. “And how?”
“Motorcycle accident with my gutsy then boyfriend. I was the duo passenger. He ran himself into a high-sider. We were both catapulted off the bike, but he landed in the scrub and got away with a few scratches. My leg slammed against the crash barrier. When I woke up in hospital, they told me it had been taken off.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. I should’ve known better.”
“So you blame yourself?”
“I have, but it’s no use. Life goes on.”
“Easier said than done, maybe?”
“Shouldn’t you be glad I’m one-legged?” she replied, trying to change the subject.
“I’m thrilled by your amputation. Not by how you ran into it.”
“Shall we stick to the first then?” she smiled.
He got the hint. It was the first time he’d seen her be vulnerable though, which added to her, he found. Unless a facade, having to miss a leg wasn’t something you’d only be light-hearted about, after all.
“You’re still to tell me how it’s holding up,” he smiled back, deliberately using the phrasing she’d used earlier.
“I’m not complaining,” she said. “But how about having a look yourself?”
It was her place they went to. A tastefully decorated appartment very much inhabited by a woman. It was tidy, had lots of houseplants, and everywhere – or close to – there was small stuff a man would never consider buying. The only thing not feminine was an impressive stereo, and even more impressive speakers.
“High-end gear, wow,” he commented, whistling his teeth.
“You have interesting sides,” he winked. “And I like it.”
“Hmm, so my left hip isn’t my only interesting side?” she teased, her eyes inviting him to step closer.
He did. He also took her crutches and put them aside, and she let him. And then he looked deep into her eyes. “It isn’t. But it’s the side I’d love to touch now…”
“It’s not forbidden…”
Her standing without crutches was with experienced ease. She was wearing black leather pants of a supple calfskin that clad shapely around her stump. A classic woolen sweater on top and a suede moccasin completed an outfit that made her looks stylishly casual, with the altered pants not meaning to hide adding the self-assurance her person expressed as well. She was missing a leg, everyone was allowed to see she was, and she wasn’t letting it affect finding herself to be an attractive woman. Not remotely, he thought as he saw her smile and lead his hand.
“You have no idea…”
“Shhh,” she whispered. “I have…”
He smiled vaguely.
“First ever occasion for you?” she inquired.
He nodded. “Yes, and what a first to be allowed to touch.”
“Mmm, feels great for me too,” she whispered, further encouraging him by twitching the muscles and looking down with him.
“It really does?”
“Trust me to not say things I don’t find. So yes, it really does.”
“Can you describe how?”
“With you touching I feel the shape very intensely, much more than I normally do. It’s pretty sensitive now, and it feels very much like the amputation it is.”
“The good way?”
“Yeah, I’d say so,” she winked invitingly. “And it doesn’t hurt, so don’t be shy.”
He was less and less. Gently stroking fingertips first, carefully exploring. Meaningful smiles exchanged as he cupped his hand around it and squeezed lightly. And very soon after, he subtly reminded her of what she’d told him earlier. That he could have a real look.
“How about you fetching us something to drink and make yourself comfortable on the couch? I’ll be back in a few.”
“What’ll it be for you?”
“I’ll stick to where we ended earlier: white wine. There’s a bottle in the fridge, glasses in the cupboard to the left,” she said, already on her way to change. “Oh, and if you like a little music: feel free to put something on.”
“Not sure if I’d dare to touch that fancy equipment of yours.”
“It works the same as the cheap ones. Just press the right button,” she grinned suggestively.
He watched her as she made her way to the bedroom. Without crutches. She could easily have taken them again, making him think she was doing this to tease him with her one-legged hopping. And he couldn’t know that, she very much was.
Walking to the kitchen to fetch drinks, he pondered two things. The first was in passing, about what music to put on. The second was much longer, and about how he’d respond to her return. There was little doubt her re-entry would be in revealing outfit, and the stylish class of her previous had no trouble in making his imagination run away with him.
He’d often seen pictures and videos of amputees. Actually, he had a pretty decent collection. But pictures and videos were just what they were: a merely distant and anonymous gratification of desires he’d much rather have for a real person. And today, he’d met one. One who now tickled his desires like he´d never thought they could be.
Browsing her cd-collection made him both smile with recognition and frown with surprise. There was the Adele cd’s he expected her to have, she had quite a lot of cool jazz too. Stuff from last century’s fifties his own friends didn’t even expect him to collect, let alone a 37 year old woman. And yet she did, which must mean she really loved that music as he did, and so he picked one of them, a personal favourite of his, Chet Baker sings.
He inserted the cd, sat down and poured the wine, and then sat back, letting The thrill is gone make the speakers show what they were worth. The first song’s lyrics were much the contrary of his emotion of the moment, that stereo of hers was sure worth every penny she’d paid for it.
And then she returned.
“Did my short absence make you melancholy?” she asked as she walked in.
She was using crutches again, a different pair of shiny black lacquered ones. To match with a change of outfit that made his heart beat over. Apart from the black stiletto she was gracefully balancing on as she approached, a see-through, black negligé was the only thing she was wearing.
“The thrill is most certainly not gone. Wow,” he smiled in amazement.
“I can see it in your eyes,” she smiled back, knowing the lyrics as well.
“So why pretend…” he continued quoting Chet.
“I wasn’t planning too. This is me…”
She put the crutches aside, looked straight into his eyes, then made the negligé slide off with the proper lack of care. He turned as she went to sit on the elbow rest of the couch. He gasped as she locked her hands behind her neck and pushed her breasts out. Her one leg dangling suggestively made as sharp a contrast with her high amputation as it was fully intended. She knew how to drive him wild, she was doing it right now, and she enjoyed every bit of it.
“Liking what you see?” she whispered with husky voice. “I think you do. I can hear it in your sighs…”
“I think you’re right…”
He moved closer, her unabashed nudity now shoving every reservedness aside. She was right about her stump holding up well. As she was about its description earlier. The was a huge scar, an almost straight cut across the rounded edge. And the way she was sitting made it show prominently. He touched it, in a trance of excitement. And she let him, with a confidently assured smile.
“It’s stunningly perfect.” he whispered.
“Glad you like,” she smiled.
“And I wanna kiss you now…”
“I’d like that even more,” she replied, smiling with seduction as she pulled him closer.
When they did, Chet Baker’s second song started to fill the room: Let’s get lost.
Two chuckles in response.
“Yes, let’s…” they both whispered.