Sporty Girl

Bart couldn’t believe his luck as he pulled his postal van into the apartment complex. The driver was female and he was finally going to see her! He was behind a baby blue BMW Z-4 convertible as it waited to pass through the wrought-iron security gate. The top was down and the driver was a very attractive 30-something blonde wearing expensive sunglasses. In the seat next to her was a pair of black forearm crutches. Bart could not see from the perch of his driver’s seat if the woman had two legs; if she was an amputee it would not be nearly as exciting for him. She briefly looked up at Bart through the rear-view mirror. He could see her face in the mirror and noted that she was quite pretty. Below his seatbelt something stirred as the old familiar thrill began to overtake Bart again.

The gate opened and the Beemer moved through. As she pulled ahead he saw the wheelchair logo on her license plate. Bart had seen this car before, parked in front of building ‘D’ inside. In fact, Bart had seen the car many times, but until now, never the driver. He was thrilled at the prospect of seeing this pretty blonde who obviously walked on crutches.

Quickly he considered his options. He couldn’t be obvious. Nonetheless, he was the mailman here making his regular deliveries, so hanging around wasn't really a problem. Bart stopped at the security code pad and punched in the assigned authorization number for deliveries. The gate opened for him and the van lumbered through just as the Beemer turned left toward Building D ahead. There were several open parking spaces directly across from Building 'D.' He made his decision.

“Just stay here for a minute,” he thought. “This one’s too good to ignore.” He pulled the van parallel with the curb several yards away from where the BMW was parking. It was in a designated handicapped space marked ‘D-3.’ Bart turned on the yellow emergency flashers and cut his engine. He pretended to busy himself with some mail as the blonde parked and prepared to get out of the car.

Bart was flushed now, in a state of rapt anticipation. The car door opened and he watched as the woman picked up her crutches and placed the lower halves outside the car. Her left leg came out on its own, a smart business pump with a low heel on the foot. She then placed her hand under the knee of her right leg and lifted it out and onto the pavement. Bart silently gasped as he noted the huge lift on her right shoe. The heel appeared to be six or seven inches taller than that of its mate, and a sturdy round rubber platform was attached to the sole. She pushed up from the little car, slid her arms into the cuffs of the black crutches, and swiveled herself aside sufficiently to close the door.

So far the woman had taken no apparent notice of Bart, to his relief. She began moving toward her apartment with a slow swinging gait. The apparently normal left leg took all her weight. The crippled right leg simply hung with the huge shoe making ground contact only at the front edge of its sole. The foot pointed down and dragged slightly as she lifted herself progressively through the crutches toward the building. Bart’s manhood was now at full mast, straining against his trousers.

“I’ve got to meet her,” he thought to himself.

In another moment she was too far into the entryway of the complex to be seen any more. But he had witnessed enough… Bart was resolved to make it a point to see the woman again. The 35-year war between Bart’s decency and his deviant sexuality began a fresh battle. He loathed himself for being so turned on by the sight of a crippled woman. Oh, the many times he had succumbed to his desire to observe such women in malls and on the street. As a youngster Bart saw polio victims in public regularly, but he rarely encoountered anyone anymore. This beauty on crutches was truly an awesome sight.

As the day wore on Bart couldn’t get the blonde out of his mind. A simple plan took form and Bart began to anticipate the next day with relish.

Bart worked the following afternoon at a pace that would allow him to get to the woman's apartment complex a little later. He wanted to ensure she was there. Upon pulling in he noted with satisfaction that the blue Z-4 was indeed in its parking space. Mounting his courage, Bart left his van at the curb and carried the large and heavy box of old magazines he had personally packed and mailed for apartment D-3 toward the door. He had made sure there was no identification of the sender on or inside the box, just in case the encounter went badly.

He rang the bell and waited in eager anticipation. In a moment the door opened. The blonde stood before him on the black aluminum crutches, a vague smile on her face. Bart couldn’t believe his eyes. The woman was barefoot. Without the immense boot-like buildup on, her thin right leg simply hung down, still swaying very slightly from the momentum of her movement. The gap between the floor and the tips of her toes was at least six inches. In the split second he allowed himself to look, Bart noted that the tiny crippled foot was perfectly formed and quite pretty. The left foot--the one on the floor--was signficantly larger and both feet were pedicured with bright red nail polish.

“Hi,” she said in a pleasant voice, noting but ignoring Bart’s quick gaze at her leg. “Have something for me?”

“Yes I do,” replied Bart, trying to sound cheerful. "This is for apartment D-3, and I need your signature. Uh…would you like me to bring this in for you?"

“Sure,” said the pretty blonde with a slight laugh, “I don’t do big boxes real well. Bart hauled the box inside and she asked him to carry it to her kitchen. She led the way, her swing-through crutching now much more rapid with the right leg simply suspended over the floor. As she stopped at the kitchen the little leg began a slight circular motion of its own. She obviously had virtually no control over this and she reflexively reached down to stop its movement.

She turned and caught Bart’s stare. He felt the blood in his face; he knew he must be obviously blushing. She paused a moment and then said simply, “You’re a devotee, aren’t you?”

Bart knew exactly what this meant. “Devotee” was the term normally associated with the fetish "abasiophilia," his sexual attraction to disabled women. He was mortified that she had him “made.” But, there was no question that she did.

“What do you mean?” asked Bart weakly.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she replied impatiently. “I saw you staring at me yesterday afternoon and today you are looking at me like a lost puppy.” Than her demeanor changed. She continued in a sultry voice, “So…Mr. mail man…you like your women handicapped, do you?”

With that she crutched over to Bart. “Hold your hands out,” she commanded. Bart complied, cupping his hands before him and not knowing what to expect. Standing right in front of him she reached behind her right calf and lifted the short leg outward, placing her miniature foot in Bart’s outstretched palms. Stunned, Bart didn't respond immediately. But he then moaned with delight and began gently stroking her, his penis growing rapidly.

“Did you have polio?” breathed Bart.

“No. I was just born this way,” she replied. “What you have there is not very useful to me, but you seem to like it a lot.” She giggled as Bart’s eyes all but rolled back in his head.

“I’ve always heard mail men are sexy. Now I know it’s true,” she cooed, watching the expansion behind Bart’s zipper. “Let’s go have some fun.” Without another word she swung herself back a foot or so, pulling herself from Bart’s grasp. The little leg now swung back and forth wildly as she repositioned herself and then headed down the hall. She turned her head over her shoulder and said coquettishly, “Come on. I'd like a very special delivery today.”

Bart had never experienced sex like he did in the next 15 fast and furious minutes. He learned that the Beemer Blonde was named Denise. And Denise knew how to please. She had stripped rapidly and helped Bart undress as well. He was amazed as she swung naked to the corner of the bedroom, propped her crutches up against the wall, and then hopped back to the bed on her good leg.

Once in bed Denise took charge. She kissed and licked Bart from head to toe and began kneading his manhood and tickling him gently.

"Nice, uh...'package,' Mr. mail man," grinned Denise. "Now, how about making my 'special delivery?"

He felt her moistness against him and he rapidly entered her, thrusting aggressively. She began to moan and sway with his rhythm. The climax was quick and both lovers understood that there was little time for Bart to stay. He wordlessly climbed from bed and began to dress.

“Please bring me my sticks,” she whispered. “It’s just plain unladylike to hop.”

Bart smiled broadly as he delivered the black crutches to her. “I have never had an experience like this before,” he said meekly. “It was awesome.” He picked up her little foot and kissed it tenderly.

“It doesn’t have to be the last time, unless you want it to be,” she replied. I’m here almost every afternoon. “Will you stop by and assist a disabled girl as needed?”

"Do I have to 'ring twice?' asked Bart coyly.

"Only if you come twice," she laughed.

Bart left, a huge grin on his face. He could hardly wait to make his next "special delivery" to D-3.