Deli

Joan wears a white sleeveless tee shirt and faded jeans, her blue hair cropped short and her chest flat. From a distance, she gives the first impression of being a guy. The right arm is gone, less than a third of the upper arm remains. She walks with a swagger, nothing bothering her.

"Hey, babe," Roger calls, seeing her walking across the parking lot to her car.

She kicks at the gravel with her cowboy boots, spits, and turns towards him. "Hey, yourself."

"Somethin' up?"

"Nah. Just got canned. Fuck 'em. Don't need this shit."

"'Cause of the arm?"

"Hell, yeah-h. I should sue the bastards...over ADA and such."

"They only want you to cover 'it' up. Wear a tee shirt with sleeves, why don't you?"

"Fuckers don't have to cover their ugly ass arms. Why should I have to cover this?" She glances down at the missing arm moving slightly. Besides, Frank has some prison tats and he don't get no shit 'bout that."

"Let me buy you a beer. It'll be good."

"Yeah, not like I can find a job now...tomorrow."

They walk through the night along the deserted sidewalk holding hands. The banter is idle in the cool air of a sexually charged moment. They have known each other the week she worked at the combination deli and coffee shop. Even with the missing arm, he found a curious urge to be with her.

"We could go to my place," she suddenly says, not breaking a stride for a few more steps. She stops and steps in front of him. "Would you want me?" She stands there, her hand now on against her waist.

"Your missing arm doesn't bother me."

"Got no boobs."

"Maybe I like you that way."

"Ha!" she roars. "Guys like 'em at least big enough to hold."

"Yeah, but guys like chicks with two arms...so."

She takes his hand and pulls him towards the hole in the wall bar. "Maybe another time." They walk a moment in silence. "I just need some fuckin'." She scuffs the toe of a boot in the sidewalk then walks away. "Catch ya later, alligator," she offers over her shoulder, and then laughs. Roger watches her walk away.

"Home!" she calls out, clicking the latch on the front door of the first floor flat.

"Here," Susan calls from the small kitchen while taking a beer from a refrigerator that has seen better days. "Want one?" She automatically reaches for another, pops the top, and hands it to her.

"God, what a fucked day." Joan groans, taking the bottle. She sucks down a large chug, watching her roommate move about on one crutch. "Love those cutoffs, makes me horny."

She slaps the end of the short stump of the right thigh with her only hand. "Any stump makes you horny."

Joan finishes the rest of the beer in another swig. "Yeah, guess so. I got fired. Going to bed."

-

A few days later the phone rings. Joan listens to the man explain he is Paul Wick, the owner of the chain of delis. "He was out of line," Paul explains about the manager. "Let's talk. I hear you're a good employee."

"Yeah," she snarls, rubbing her fingers against her chest with the phone tucked against her ear.

"You have every reason to be angry."

"I think so. Asshole had no right."

"I agree. If we can only meet, I believe I can make it up to you."

"What about dickhead?"

Paul laughs. "You weren't the first to have problems with 'dickhead'."

She laughs at his use of the word. Not knowing him, it seemed out of character. "You sound cool. Yeah, lets met. I'll even wear my dress up faded jeans instead of my everyday faded jeans." She chuckles.

"Now would be fine. Maybe we can have lunch afterwards."

"Great. I'll bring an empty stomach too."

The secretary seems appropriately discussed with Joan's appearance, the same kind of sleeveless tee shirt she prefers to wear with the stump out in full view. Joan combs her fingers though the blue hair and sits down with her legs crossed in an unladylike manner - one ankle over the other knee.

"He's ready," the secretary, says five minutes later holding the office door open.

"I'm Pa ... Paul," Paul stammers with his hand out taking his first look at Joan.

"Not what you expected?" She laughs. "I'm Joan."

"Sorry. Have a seat." He waves a hand towards the chair on the other side of his large wooden desk.

She plops in the chair, slouched, legs crossed as before. "It's alright. I always like that initial reaction. Don't know why." She chuckles. "You should see it when someone first meets my roommate. Susan is missing an arm 'and' a leg." She chuckles again.

"Really?" Paul leans back, both hands clasped behind his head. "You're bold. I like that."

"Pisses off most folk."

"And you like that?"

"I've got the angry act down pat."

"Why? You're pretty. I bet smart as well. Is it the missing arm?"

"That, nah. That I don't mind. My dad beat my mother. Guess I'm angry 'cause she wasn't."

"They still together?"

"Nope. She's dead and he's in prison."

"Oh-h." He sits back up, hands on the desk. "Listen, I want you working for me again."

Joan holds her only hand up. "Not working for him."

"I understand completely. Dickhead no longer works for me." He laughs. "If that location isn't good, let me know and we'll find you a place."

"When do I start?"

"Whenever you want and I'll see you get a little more an hour." He watches her nod a few times, then smile in a different way than before - happy. "Say, does your roommate need a job?"

"She doesn't stand for long."

"Well, if she would like a change, maybe I can find her something." He pushes a business card across the table. "Have her call me."

"Sure."

"Did you bring that empty stomach? We could find a place to eat...and not one of the delis. He chuckles.

-

Susan had eagerly called after Joan told her about the conversation with Paul and getting her job back. Now the secretary watches her stroll casually on a single crutch towards her as though she had walked that way all her life.

"Susan Thomas to see Paul Wick."

The woman stares a moment then makes a phone call. When she hangs up, she says, "He's ready." Then points towards the office door with an expression that seems to say 'let's see you open that by yourself'. Just as the door begins to close behind Susan, she hears the woman say, "I'll be damn."

Paul seems overwhelmed as he takes in Susan's features - tall with nice curves, lovely brown curls, perfectly tanned skin that makes her look like she'd stepped off the pages of a travel magazine, and dressed in an business appropriate knee length dress.

"Yes, Paul, I get that a lot." She snickers. "I'm glad you approve." She sits and gently lays the crutch beside the chair then smoothes the dress along the thigh.

"You wouldn't like to get married, would you?" His smile his big and Susan imagines other parts are firm from the expression.

She fakes a glance at her watch. "Let's see, I have to balance the national budget this afternoon, maybe tomorrow." She smiles then combs her long brown hair with her fingers as she tosses it with a flip of the head.

"Great, maybe about noon." He laughs. "God, I think I'm in love."

"Just in case you missed it, I'm not all here." She waves her arm slightly to emphasize the stump.

He shrugs. "So?"

"Oh-h."

"Yeah, oh-h. You have the job to do...whatever...you just let me know. Let's go to lunch."

"Wow, that was the best interview I've ever had." She stands as he comes around the desk. As she slips the crutch under the arm, he stops close. "Maybe you'd rather have me at the front desk than her." She smiles and touches his arm lightly.

-

"My usual table," Paul says to the host at the restaurant. It is a nicer place than where he took Joan, one with dark paneled walls and high ceilings with ornate moldings everywhere. They follow the host and Susan watches the floor to keep from tripping on people's feet.

"Perhaps a drink?" Paul asks.

She glances up at the host. "Whiskey, neat. Jack Daniels."

"Same."

The host walks away and Paul studies her, his eyes roaming everywhere.

"Should see me naked," she teases then snickers.

"I'd have to adjust my pacemaker." He laughs.

She takes his hand. "You're sweet. I hope Mrs. Wick won't mind."

"If there was one, I'd hire a hit-man this afternoon."

"Hmmm."

"No, there's no longer a Mrs. Wick and no children either."

Susan stands and takes a deft hop then settles in the chair closer to Paul. "There, you'll have a better view." She smoothes her dress along the thigh then pulls it up slightly. Briefly, her hand rests on the end of the very short stump of her thigh as she again looks at him.

"My, my, you are beautiful."

"Have women with missing limbs always effect you this way?"

"What way?"

"Oh, I don't know." She chuckles. "I have a feeling you are lusting just a little." She takes his hand.

"Guess I'm not doing a very good job of hiding my feelings."

She plays with his finger almost as if she is stroking his erection, and nibbles at her lower lip. "Nope...thank god."

"Ah."

She continues the play leaving little doubt about the simulation and letting her chest swell slightly so her nipples poke into the dress.

"Ah, pacemaker repair, come quickly." He laughs and playfully holds his chest.

"I don't think I've had such a nice reaction before." She lets her tongue wander across her lips.

The food arrives and he orders another round of drinks. After the waiter leaves, he gives her a long look as she knowingly nods that she is his if he wants her. He cuts the steak and notices she is just holding the knife. "Let me," he offers and pulls her plate closer. "One of the problems I take it," he whispers, cutting and eyeing her.

"Uh-huh. I don't have many, but that is probably at the top of the list."

"It's okay," he mutters, still slicing the meat. He pushes the plate back to her. "Just let me know. I'll help."

"Thank you."

"Joan mentioned you're roommates."

She sighs. "Yes." She drops the shoe off and rubs her barefoot along his leg while chewing a bite. "She can be a little wild."

He shrugs, and swallows. "Pretty, not like you, but...."

"She moved in with us when she was young. We grew up together, almost like sisters."

"She mentioned her parents."

"Tragic...colored her a lot."

There is tortured silence and for a moment, they simply stare at each other.

"Curious you both are missing arms."

"Uh-huh." Again, Susan is silent as if he crossed some line.

"Painful memories. Sorry," he says.

"We just don't know each other well enough."

"I understand." He takes her hand. "I understand."

She keeps his hand and rubs his leg with the barefoot again. There is a heavy sigh. "Guess it'd come out...eventually."

"No, you don't have...."

"Paul, you are a handsome man. I never expected to be sharing these feelings so quickly with anyone, but you...." She takes a deep breath. "I think you might understand in ways others don't."

"Please."

She looks around as if about to tell state secrets then takes a sip of the new drink. "She has her own story...issues."

"Understood...."

She holds the hand up stopping him, and then takes another sip. "This is so awkward." She sighs. "Before Joan...a woman would baby sit me. She was missing an arm.... Oh fuck, I can't do this."

"I think I understand. Really, I do."

He pats her knee, knowing how the story ends. It is similar to his story. He pushes the plate away and wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin. The rest of the drink washes over his tongue as he finishes it.

"You?" she asks, nodding with a smile.

"Yes."

"Done anything?"

"About it?" He sits silent for a while. "My ex-wife never understood that part of me. She didn't like to even talk about it, but as long as it was just talk it was okay. She sometimes pretended for me, bind her leg up and walk about the house. I thought it would hold my demons at bay. I guess she did as well."

"Nothing does."

"You've got that right." He groans.

She finishes eating and he moves her plate while she wipes her mouth. "So?"

"I couldn't stand myself. Told her I had to do something. I'd found a doctor overseas doing these." He waves a hand towards her arm stump. "She left. I went. I had the money, even after she took me to the cleaners. I waited. I didn't want my need to cloud the divorce anymore than it did...and have her lawyer claim I was crazy. He probably would have. Her only good thing was a promise to keep it our secret."

"You walk well. I didn't notice."

"Money can buy a fine prosthetic leg." He laughs. "I only wear it to work."

She pulls her dress against her leg stump. "There's not much." She rubs a moment then fluffs the dress.

"That's what I wanted. I was afraid. Why both?"

"Why one?" She laughs.

"Good point." He takes her hand. "Can I see you again?"

"I hope." She laughs. "Tonight?"

-

Susan gasps for air, only a labored wheeze seems to escape her lips. Paul isn't much better. They both lie on their back hoping for more of each other, but needing to relax a little more. No opening on either missed in multiple ways.

"Fuckin' good," she finally offers, and then snickers. "You are very good with that tongue."

"You're a keeper too." He laughs. "I mean that."

"I want to be with you...."

"Why not? Move in and let's do this all the time."

"It was good just now, no doubt. But what else would keep us together?"

He sighs deeply then pulls her against him, his mouth against hers. Her hand clutches his stump, massaging the end against her palm.

"Anyone ever do that for you?" she asks.

"It's only been a year since.... Yeah, there was one woman. Kim wrote me, told me she was a devotee, and loved me with one leg. Wanted to meet, so we IM'd for a while. She came, literally." He laughs. "It was clear we were not a match."

"I'm not sorry."

"Spend the rest of the night, please."

"I need to get back...Joan."

"Sure. Tomorrow?"

She begins dressing and stands to work the dress past her waist. There is a long look at him, taking in his wonderful nakedness. "If you'd like."

"I may have to let the alligators out into the moat and raise the drawbridge so you can't leave the castle."

"Hmmm. There were a few moves that we need to practice again." She laughs. "About seven tomorrow night?"

-

"Joan?" Susan calls, locking the front door. She drops her purse on the coffee table and walks to the bedroom to change. She peeks in Joan's bedroom and she is not there, the light is off, and the bed still made.

The warm shower feels good, as she turns slowly on the single foot, letting all the sex crud wash away. She stands still until the water begins to run cool the sits on the edge of the tub to dry.

"Did you use all the hot water?" Joan asks, leaning against the open door wearing only her sleeveless shirt.

"Sorry, I did."

Joan waves her hand. "It'll come back." She digs the toes of one foot against the floor and drags the hand over a breast in a non-suggestive manner. "How was Paul?"

"We had a good talk."

Joan glances at the clock on the counter. "Eight hours. It must have been 'real' good."

"Uh-huh. I want to know more about him, seems we have some things in common."

"Yeah, I noticed him staring at my arm."

"Listen, Joan, I.... I, ah, want to see him again tomorrow night. I think I might stay the night."

"Good for you." She groans then turns to leave.

Susan grabs her crutch and hurries to catch up. "Wait. Are you pissed?"

"Nah. I'm happy for you. Maybe I'll hook up with Roger. I think he wants me."

Susan touches her arm then curls fingers around it. "Look, sis. I'm not moving away."

She gives her a lingering kiss, her tongue worms between her lips. "I know. I'm happy for you." Joan turns and walks away.

"Don't be angry," Susan calls.

-

There is no foreplay, no sexual banter. Instead, Paul hurries Susan to the bedroom where they undress eagerly. His prosthetic leg lying on the floor, he takes her tightly in his arms. His erection begs against her opening, but neither is ready for that yet. Their mouths move about against each other and tongues dance together.

He holds a breast, rolling it about under his palm, feeling the nipple poke its firmness against it.

"Oh-h, Paul," she coos, and then takes the mouth again.

He feels her squirm against his body. He wants her too. His mouth lets go and he nibbles downward, twisting so their faces are between thighs. Her fragrance begs his lips to savor the parting opening.

-

Returning from the bathroom, she notices a wheelchair in the closet with the door slightly ajar. She opens the door more and stares into the darkness.

"It's a powered wheelchair," he tells her, as he finishes hopping to her. Now he stands behind her, his hand rubbing her buttock and short stump lovingly.

"Why?" She begs.

"No way to hide this. I guess."

"No, Paul. I want to know all about you. Please, tell me."

"Remember I told you I wear my leg to work." He sighs deeply. "I'm so ashamed of my feelings, my needs. You're the only one that understands."

"Do you want the other leg off too?"

"In my dream world, I'd have two stumps, very, very short ones. I sometimes use the chair and imagine I'm that way."

"Can I use it?"

"Sure. You'd be cute that way." He snickers as he sits in the chair and flicks to power button on. He drives about the room a few times then parks beside Susan, giving her direction on how to work it.

The controller is on the same side as her hand and she readily adapts to driving the chair around. "I wish I had this." She laughs and continues to drive about the room then down the hallway before returning.

"I might have to buy another, looks like."

"Why? Because I'll never give it back." She laughs. "If I had this, I wouldn't need my other leg, would I?"

"I swear; you are trying to make my heart fail." He mocks holding his chest as if he is having a heart attack.

"Poor baby," she teases. "From the looks of that, I might believe the thought of me without legs excites you." She laughs, looking at the raging erection.

-

Joan slams down the shot of whiskey. The glass sits hard on the worn wood of the bar where mostly men drink to get drunk. "Another," she tells the bartender wiping the glass he just finished washing.

"Where's your buddy?"

"Roger's not my buddy. We work together. That's about it."

She takes a long look at the slim bald man filling the glass. He has an earring in one ear and a tattoo of a peg leg peaking from the shirtsleeve. He pushes the glass towards her and leans on one elbow, the towel draped over his shoulder.

"Nice tat," she coos before sampling the drink.

"Yeah. Did you ever know anyone that wore a peg?"

"Nope." She stares at his face imagining what that would look like. "You?"

"My old man had a friend that did when I was a kid."

"Bet that made you think of pirates." She chuckles then sips.

"Man, I never forgot the way that sounded...the tap, tap, against hardwood."

"Hell, if you had one leg." She sips. "You could get a peg."

"I do and I did."

"Whoa, really?"

"You should get a hook and we could be a team."

He laughs then wanders off to satisfy a few customers need for drink. His feet hidden below the backside of the bar, she can't see them or tell if he has a limp.

"Arrg matey, need more grog?" he teases, sounding like a pirate.

"How much of the leg?"

"'Bout half the thigh...enough to wear a prosthetic leg."

"Ever just use crutches?"

"Yeah...often." He fills her glass then smiles. "On the house."

"My name is Joan."

"Pete. Nice to meet you."

"You bet. I've noticed you, but I didn't know about the leg."

"Would that have made a difference?"

"Sure-e." She chuckles then chugs half the drink. "More grog, captain."

"That's a nice stump you have."

"It's a long story, sometime I might tell it to you...if we're alone." She nibbles her lower lips. "And naked."