Marci quizzes, 'Stilettos or pumps'. A black running shoe dangles from two fingers. She had always preferred stilettos because of the way they highlighted the shape of her legs. Even the shorter heel of a pump had been nice, and not hurt her feet as much. Since the amputation, just about anything without heels felt better and offered more stability on one leg.
She carries the left pump back to the overstuffed chair by the bed to sit and put it on. The stockinged leg and foot extend so she can admire it. "Yes," she says aloud, standing and adjusting the crutches under her arms. The reflection in the tall dressing mirror is now more familiar - the new normal. She twists and turns examining the woman with one leg from every angle. Most of the one leg is nicely visible, the other side of the dress with nothing extending beneath.
Her brother and his wife had asked her to visit and spend time relaxing by the pool while she recovered. Men had lusted over her shapely legs. She thinks about how the plural sound was now lost forever and possibly along with men. Kevin sure was gone in a heartbeat. Would there be others?
She lifts the hem of the dress gradually until the rounded shape of the legless hip reveals itself next to the fabric patch of the black thong. She had tried and given up on other styles of panties because there wasn't enough 'hip' to fill the elastic of the leg hole. Two fingers drag over the front of the thong, pressing into the opening beneath, rubbing hard until a soft moan flows from her mouth.
The scars, no longer angry red lines, have begun to fade into pale ones. The initial pain is gone too. She rubs a palm over the hip, front to back with no thigh in the way. She rubs back in the other direction enjoying the 'new hip', the way it feels, and the way it looks.
Jeff had been in town for a week - new job, a new life. The motel room at the Sands was a hundred a week. There was no beach, no sand, anywhere near. He wondered how motels got names that had no relationship to the location. The walls were paper-thin and the nightly entertainment consisted of a headboard in the neighboring room rhythmically banging the wall with sounds of 'oh baby, oh baby' from a prostitute and her line of customers. He had seen her a few times, not a looker, and he had never been tempted to be a patron.
Each day he would spend five hours at work and the rest of the day looking for a place to live. At the low-rent diner a block from the motel while having breakfast, he would circle rental ads. Now he had seen all the ones close to the office.
Elmhurst is a large town, mostly flat with a range of rolling hills to the east. Roads from there into town are reasonable and he considers exploring housing possibilities in that area. The ads are few and usually out of his price range.
"Lookin' for a place?" the waitress asks, still holding the coffee pot after refilling his cup.
He looks up at the chubby older woman in a pale-green waitress uniform. "Yeah. I've just about exhausted the stuff near work. Maybe I'll look up in the hills."
"That's just rich folk, wouldn't want to discourage you though." She laughs and leaves.
He circles a few more ads then goes to work. At least there is a lot of eye candy there, something unusual and unexpected. Two women look like they stepped off a page of a Victoria Secrets catalog - tall and willowy with wonderful legs and high-heel shoes. Lois likes to wear skirts exposing half her thighs or more. When she bends over, the rounded cheeks of her ass threaten to peek out. He dreams of her each night, too bad she wears a wedding ring. The lucky bastard had better appreciate her.
Julie, prettier than Lois if that is possible, loves wearing stockings. The other day she wore a black pair with a line up the back. When she sat with her legs crossed, he could see they were thigh-high with a dark band of lace at the top. He found it more than exciting. Maybe she was only teasing and taunting him, after all she wore an engagement ring. Another lucky bastard had won.
"Morning," Julie coos, her voice more suggestive than normal.
After a moment of fantasy that she is whispering that in his bed, he smiles. "Always nice to see you." He studies her legs finding taupe stockings and black stilettos. His mouth gapes open.
"Too much?" She responds in a teasing way, leaving a big smile across her wonderful lips. She snickers. "Having lunch with my soon to be hubby."
"Now, why would you say that?" She strikes a pose that highlights most every feature, fingers combing though her long blond hair.
"Just remember me in case something happens."
"Why Jeff, I didn't know you were interested."
"So...." He clears his throat. "I'm expanding my search area for a place to live. Do you know anything about the stuff up in the hills?"
"Cool views and big homes. Some have guest houses." She grabs the newspaper with circled ads and scans. "Here's one. One bedroom, one bath, small kitchen, near pool area." She chuckles. "Maybe the wife's lonely." She chuckles again, drops the paper, and walks away with a swish of glorious hips encased in a tight tan skirt.
He watches, letting the images become forever etched in his mind, thinking about how nice it would be have those legs wrapped around his waist for hours each night. 'What would that feel like?' he puzzles, almost aloud.
"Yeah, I agree." Maggie pats his shoulder. "Lust in the heart." She laughs.
Maggie has a butch look - short brown hair, thick and muscled everywhere, wearing black slacks and a man's white dress shirt.
"Can't help looking," he mumbles.
"Got that right. If she'd trade teams.... If only." She chuckles then walks away.
"How's the hunt?" Jeff's boss asks moments later. "I need you to start working full time next week."
"Yeah, and I need a place to live. Closing in on something soon, I hope. There's a hooker next door at the motel. Do you know what that's like?" Jeff groans.
"Maybe you should...."
"Nah. She's not good looking at all."
Jeff leans against the car looking at the large villa styled house, probably five or six thousand square feet, probably just for two people. How do people afford homes like that without robbing banks? The grounds are manicured without a blade of grass out of place or longer than any other is. He looks around finding most of the homes similar, some larger. The view towards the town is spectacular with a slight breeze blowing though his hair.
He had called, but no one answered. The knock on the door goes unanswered as well. He walks around the side of the house and through the opened gate. A brick paved walkway leads past a hedge to a guesthouse. An opening in a hedge reveals the large pool with crystal-clear water. Several deck chairs line the edges.
A lovely, and naked, woman walks from the pool to one of the chairs without seeing him. Nothing escapes his lips trying to announce his presence. Dewdrops of water linger on her tanned skin as she sits, legs spread slightly enough to expose all that waits between. Her head leans back, eyes closed, as one hand cups a handful of breast and fingers of the other stroll between the thighs.
He watches, listening to the chorus of moans that begin. His pants bulge and there is no attempt to not look at her. What is her relationship to the house, he wonders. Though not quite as exciting as Julie or Lois, she is off the scale of lovely.
Her head remains back with eyes closed as she mutters, "fuck me-e, fuck me-e," repeatedly.
He nearly trips, bumping the hedge enough to make noise. Startled, she opens her eyes and stops the pleasuring. When she stands, she slips a nearly transparent shier garment on. Why, he doesn't know since it hides nothing he has not already seen.
She steps closer. "May I help you?"
Though he has a hundred answers to the question that may be different than she expects, he simply says, "I saw the ad for the guesthouse."
"Probably not all you 'saw'." She chuckles, not giving any hint of being embarrassed about him watching her activity. "It's a nice day, too nice to not swim naked."
"Call me Carla. Let me show you the rental." She wags a finger over her shoulder, beckoning him to follow. He does. "The last tenant just moved out." She offers what the rent is and how much for deposits. "Is that too much?"
He feasts on her looks and she lets him. "Ah, ah," he stammers a few times, still looking.
She touches the fabric over a nipple, rubbing slightly with a seductive grin. "You can use the pool."
He fantasizes that she removes the garment and unzips his trousers. That they make love by the pool several times each morning after her husband leaves for work.
"No, that's just fine," he finally says.
She opens one of the French doors. He follows inside. "It's furnished. I don't remember if the ad said that."
"Nicer than my furniture. I'll take it."
"Good. I was hoping you would." Her hand slides down his upper arm. "My husband is away on unexpected business tonight. Would you like to join me for dinner? I'd thawed two steaks before he called."
"I'd love too. I'm new in town and haven't met anyone...."
"Great, it's a date. Move your things in first and I'll break out a nice bottle of wine. We can celebrate."
His eyes continue to roam over her body, and even her face. He considers what to say and wonders what her husband is like, if he is big or a killer for the mob.
"Perfect. I don't have much."
Carla opens the door wearing an outfit that might have come from Lois or Julie's closet and she looks inviting with the shier stockings and black high-heels. The light gray skirt reveals most of the legs he'd already seen and the near-transparent cream-colored blouse leaves no question about the lack of a bra.
"Wow-w," he drawls.
"It's nothing special."
"Thanks for wearing 'nothing special'." He chuckles, following her into the kitchen.
"Hope I didn't embarrass you by the pool."
"Nope." He decides to not say more.
"The privacy by the pool is one of the things that I liked when I first saw the house."
"Have you lived here long?"
"A few years, since just after our wedding. Sam is a lawyer. You remind me of him."
"I'd like to meet him." 'Yeah, but will he mind me fucking his wife?'
"The wine's been breathing for a while. Go ahead and pour 'us' some." She stands closer, brushing lightly against him as he pours the merlot. "Are you married or seeing anyone?" She clinks the glasses together then sips, her eyes luring him closer.
"Guess it is good I'm not."
His lips touch hers. She offers no resistance to his lips or the hand over a breast.
She pulls back slightly, still against him. "Maybe I should start the steaks." She peels herself away.
"Yes, I guess." He sips.
He asks where the bathroom is and follows her directions. Dozens of framed pictures hang on the hallway hall. Many seem to be family members of both families. A few from the wedding and vacations are mixed in, no apparent order or groupings.
Walking back, he stops and looks again. Several pictures of a woman catch his attention. In some, she has one leg, the others both, probably a before and after remembrances of how she used to be before the amputation. The pictures are of her alone so there is no indication if she is part of the family or a friend.
"Great house," he says returning and finding his glass refilled.
"Thanks. I always dreamed of living in a place like this when I was a little girl. I guess dreams do come true."
"By the pool, I had a few." He laughs then pecks an innocent kiss.
"I find you handsome...." She returns a peck then turns the steaks a last time.
"In the hallway, I noticed some pictures."
"Friends and family."
"All stunningly handsome or beautiful."
"Great gene pool." She chuckles.
"The woman with one leg...."
"That's Marci. She's Sam's sister. The amputation was recent and she's doing just fine. Beautiful, still, don't you think?"
"Yes, very much so."
"Have you ever known an amputee?"
She cuts the steak enough to see the color then drops one on each plate where baked potatoes already sit. A large bowl of salad sits on the island.
"No, but it's on my list of things to do before I die." He chuckles. "Oh, I hope that wasn't insensitive."
Without answering, she carries the plates to the table and he brings the salad, returning with the glasses and wine bottle.
"Really?" she finally asks sitting and crossing her long legs so that the tops of the thigh-high stockings show plus some of the thigh above them. One foot swings idly. "I had a friend with one leg when I was a girl. I used to bind my leg up and pretend I was like her. I'd swipe her crutches and walk around. She'd hop after me begging to have them back."
"Do you 'swipe' Marci's crutches?"
"Maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but you have seen me naked." She laughs. "I have my own crutches now. I still pretend."
"Wow-w," he drawls.
"Was that a good wow or a shocked one?"
"I've read a few stories about pretending to be an amputee. I guess I always thought of them as just fiction."
"Nope. Nope." She chews a bite of meat slowly, her eyes studying his face. She re-crosses her legs, changing which is on top. "Where they juicy stories?" She smiles, holding the empty fork near her lips for a moment before putting it down.
"There was fucking."
"Oh-h, my, my. One of my favorite sports. Yours?"
"Yeah, but I'm out of practice. Have you read any of those kinds of stories?"
"Ha!" She finishes a bite of salad. "My hard drive is filled with them, along with plenty of pictures."
"Hmmm, and my drive is hard."
"Would you think it'd be a shame for me to lose one of my legs? I've noticed you lusting over them. I'd keep one for looks."
"Not like you can just have an amputation, but in the interest of speculation...." He sips. "I guess if you 'wanted' it, that'd be okay. They are fantastic examples of legs though." He sips. "I do have a thing for stockings and high-heels."
"Sam as well. Glad you like that." She finishes a bite of salad. "Now I know how to get your attention."
"Swim naked and if my heart doesn't stop, you'll have my 'full' attention."
"And probably a full erection." She laughs.
"Yup. How often do you pretend? Does Sam know?"
"Yes he knows. Some days, I'm so on fire I can't control my desires." She laughs.
"Guess you have some competition now that Marci is missing a leg."
"Uh-huh. That sure fuels my heat more than his. He doesn't understand."
He thinks it is just curious, like a fetish in the way you like stockings and heels."
"Is it more than that?"
"Oh, hell-l yeah. If there was a surgeon, I'd be in his office the moment I knew he was willing."
"There you go again." She laughs. "I'm glad we're having this conversation. I was wondering if the next tenant would mind. The others have acted as if I was crazy." She sips. "Crazy! Can you believe that?" She watches his expression a long moment. "It wasn't as if I paraded around without my leg. I kept that to myself inside the house."
"How'd they find out?"
"With the last one, I thought he was at work. I happened to go for a swim without my leg. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do." She laughs. "Embarrassed doesn't quite cover how I felt. He yelled nasty things at me then said he'd move out rather than be around 'someone like me'."
"Did others find out?"
"Just one, a woman. She was cool with it, said she liked the look." She laughs. "Why can't everyone be like her?"
"Did she pretend?"
"No, damn it. I suggested it, offered her a pair of crutches. I have several pairs, but she didn't seem interested in doing more than just watching."
"And?" He laughs. "What happened to her?"
"She ran off to live with a woman missing a leg."
He slides the chair beside her and rests a hand on her thigh. There is no objection as he softly rubs the top of the stocking. She closes her eyes, and makes a quiet moan.
"Which leg?" he whispers.
"Right, probably about where your hand is. Maybe higher up."
He rubs higher, fingers dipping between the thighs. "Here?"
She uncrosses her legs, leaving the thighs parted. He rubs higher finding only bare skin, bare wet skin.
"Higher," she moans.
His fingers are deep inside, drilling slowly. Her pleasure is obvious, moaning as no other woman. She grips his wrist firmly, helping his effort intensify. Her legs part more.
"We shouldn't," she offers, but not making any movement to stop.
"Oh, we must."
"Or as often as possible." His lips take hers, her aromas drifting.
"Uh-huh-h," she drawls.
The phone rings a few times, then stops. They continue without seeing who called. The phone rings again.
"It's Sam, probably," she groans, jerking his hand from between her legs. "Fuck, if I don't...." She sucks one of his fingers then answers. "Hi, honey-y." She coos, struggling to not sound like she had been having sex. Jeff listens, ready to return to the guesthouse unsatisfied. "No, no. I was out by the pool when I heard the phone."
She holds a finger up suggesting it will be just a minute. Jeff stands and walks about the room then down the hall. He studies the pictures of Marci, the conversation in the background, considering the possibilities.
"Lucky lady," she whispers in his ear, rubbing her chest against his back. A hand slips around his waist then over his trousers. "What do we have here?" She kisses his ear. "The bedroom is just down the hall a little farther."
"Believe me, I want to...."
"Shut up," she scolds. "Never turn down a fuck."
"You're the boss, my dear."
Carla listens to Marci talk for a moment. "If I'm lying, I'm dying." She laughs. "Yes, yes, his eyes drilled holes in your pictures more than once." She listens. "You've been talking about a visit since the surgery. Now-w, you've got to come." She laughs. "Yeah, in that way too." She laughs, and then listens. "Yeah, thicker, and longer than Sam." She listens. "Great! Love ya."
Using crutches, she walks about on the lone barefoot, the other pressed against her hip with an elastic bandage wrapped tightly around the folded leg. She finishes putting the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and starting it. By the island, she pours another cup of coffee and sips.
Sam had made love to her several times last night, but since beginning the affair with Jeff, it had somehow not been as good. She still made an effort to act pleased, but he had never let her bind her leg up before sex. Jeff relished the idea, even suggesting it the few times she didn't do it.
The coffee finished, her foot and leg begin to throb. She reluctantly unwraps it and hobbles to the bedroom to stow the crutches in her closet with the others.
Passing the bathroom, she grabs a towel and slings it over one shoulder as she walks naked to the pool.
Julie poses suggestively in the door to Jeff's small office. The only reason he has it are the sensitive papers he works with need securing at night. He wags a finger and she closes the door behind her then sits with her legs crossed.
"Are you getting any from the landlady?" She swings the foot with a high-heel shoe idly.
"That's a need to know kind of information."
"What, my pay grade isn't high enough?" She chuckles. "And here I wore your favorite stockings. I think they are. At least you stare harder when I wear them." She slides both hands up along the lower leg as it stretches out.
"Ah, ah," he stammers.
"It's okay if you have a thing for stockinged legs. Mike, my hubby to be, does too."
"You and Lois have great legs."
"You know, people find the strangest things to be erotic. I was talking to someone who mentioned some men like chicks with one leg."