I'm Born This Way

My parents always wanted a girl like me. I was the perfect fulfillment of their dreams when I was born. I was their angle, lovely, curly blond, always in good mood and laughing.

But I didn't develop as expected. At the age of two I was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. It affects all of my limbs. I can't control the movements of my arms. I can't touch anything. Furthermore, I can't use my hands. Trying to touch something results in a cascade of violent twitching of my arms. At the end my hands are where I want them to be but there's nothing on the table anymore. My arms are more affected than my legs and my left side is better than my right one.

I have no control on my right arm and my right leg. Most of the time they flail around uselessly. My right hand likes to fold inwards; the fingers overstretched, freakish twisted and always in motion. This hand is either fixed somewhere or in a thick sock to protect me form hurting myself. Strange, but the freakish fingers don't fit in a glove.

The only movement I can do with my right leg is to pull it up to my shoulders. No, I can't really move it, I can trigger it to pull up, it's all or nothing. And I can't get it down again. It straightens when it wants.

My left leg is my best. I can keep it still with some concentration and I can move my foot. And I have some control on my left hand. I can open and close it a bit and I can hold something, but I can't grab anything. My fingers hardly work.

Anyway, I can't care for myself, I can't eat or drink by myself, can't walk, can't touch and hold on things. In fact, I can't do anything by myself. I always need assistance.

I grew up as normal as possible. My parents made sure that there was always someone to assist me.

I learned to walk, either using a walker or being held by my assistant. I used braces to fix and stabilize my legs. The braces were fantastic. They locked whenever there's weight on them. Then the only possible motion was to straighten my legs. Without load, I could, no, my legs could move as they want, but as soon as I put weight on them my braces locked, and I could stand independently. Later, at school, I enjoyed everybody's attention, I enjoyed being in focus when people see me in my walker, fighting against my uncooperative legs, hardly working to move on step by step and to go where I want to go to, not where my legs want to go. And I enjoyed people staring at me when I couldn't hold the left handle any longer, my arm wriggling around some time until I get my hand back to the handle and hold it tight again. Or even better, if the fixation of my right hand to the walker's handle came up and my right arm moves around wildly unless somebody helped me and fixed my right hand again.

My left hand is my good hand. I can't touch anything by myself as I can't control my arm, but I can move my fingers, touch and hold something if someone keeps my hand in place. At school, I even learned to write. My assistant holds my left hand, give me a pencil and close my fingers around it in the right way. Then holds the paper, guides my hand and I can write.

But life changed when I got ill. It was a perfect summer, a long holiday with my friends and a two weeks summer camp for special needs people. I had a lot of fun. Two weeks later I got a severe fever. At the end I was put into an artificial sleep for a whole month. It has gone worse when they got me back. I couldn't walk anymore, not even with my braces. I still can stand with my braces locked for some time, but then my right foot likes to stretch straight and kicks me out of balance. Now I'm in a power wheelchair full time. Sometimes my right leg likes to straighten and starts jerking involuntary in front of me. It's always good when my right arm and right leg are stuck in the slings fixed to the wheelchair. They can twitch as they want, I can't hurt myself, and they don't cramp.

And something happened to my neck muscles. I can't hold my head anymore. The muscles are working, but I have absolutely no balance. Without support my head stumbles around if I try to keep it upright.

And I can't move my feet anymore. My right foot likes to straighten, the ankle fixed motionless in an ultra high-heel position, only my toes having their own life. My left foot has turned inside like a clubfoot. It's not fixed; I can straighten it by myself with some work. I can hardly move my toes, they like to contract, only the big one stretches upwards. But my left leg is still my best and the only limb I can control halfway and meanwhile I have learned to run my wheelchair with my left foot. There's a control similar to a tennis ball mounted near the left foot rest of my wheelchair where I can reach it at best.

It was always easy to make new friends. Boy and girls are always interested in me because I'm different, I'm the exotic cripple, the oddity. They are attracted to my helplessness. Girls want to help, to care, to do something good. It's an emotional thing, out of their heart. They are somehow proud to help me. Boys are different. My helplessness makes them a hero. I'm something like a trophy for them, something they can boast with.

But although I can't do anything by myself I don't feel helpless. I do whatever I want to do through my assistance. It's the same as using a car. Or do you feel helpless because your car is broken? For me my assistance is natural. Someone is always there. My friends or at least my personal assistance.

Something was changing in the relation to my girlfriends when boys became interesting. Sometimes I heard my girlfriends whispering and giggling. And talking about boys. I felt excluded. I know what's going on, puberty and growing sexuality. My body has changed a long time ago, my breasts have grown out, and I looked much more feminine now. And of course I got interested in boys. But I knew that this is out of scope for me. I couldn't imagine that someone is really interested in me. I'm not attractive, my arms and the right leg involuntary wriggling around are not alluring, I'm repulsive, strange, ugly and unapproachable.

Over time, I got depressed more and more.

Things changed again some months after my 19^th birthday. One day Paula found me very sad and in tears. She took me into her arms, tried to comfort me and stroke me caring. I couldn't stop weeping, I was really depressed. At least I told her what I was thinking, that I was in deep doubts about myself.

Am I beautiful? Can I be attractive? I have never seen myself naked, my body, my breasts. I never dared to ask for it, to ask for being undressed and put in front of mirror, nude, my arms and legs fixed so that I can see myself, my whole body. Do I have beautiful breasts? And how does it feel to touch them? This is one thing I can't do. I can't touch myself, never and nowhere.

Paula knew what to do. She visited me a few days later. My parents where off for the weekend, and I was alone with my assistance. They were two, Paula and Lillian, another girlfriend. At first, they asked my assistance to leave us alone as they will take over my care until the next morning. I'd no idea what they have planned.

We had a girls chat, talked about everything, about boys and girls, how it feels, what they do and how they do. It was fantastic, no whisper, no secrets anymore. I was no longer excluded, I was happy.

They wanted to show me everything, touch and feel everything, feel my whole body. And to let me see myself, my body, my breasts, everything. They put me on my bed, undressed me and secured my head in a ruff hidden by a red scarf. Then she put my braces on my legs and locked them straightened. Paula had one more surprise for me, red high heel pumps. No, impossible, I can't wear such shoes on my contorted feet. But Paula did it, she struggled with my toes until they stay straight, and she could slip them in. It was perfect.

Then they put me on my legs, I was standing, standing on my own legs, Paula at my left and Lilian at my right side, fixing my arms over their shoulders. And they walked me to my parents' bedroom, in front of the large mirror there. Finally, I could see me, all of me, my nude body. And I couldn't believe that this was me. I'm standing on my own legs and on my own feet. It was breath-taking. Yes, I'm beautiful, my body is beautiful, my breasts, everything. My legs looked fantastic, long and slim, entirely enclosed in the white cuffs of the braces, fixed and perfectly straightened. And my feet, breath-taking, the red heels looked so elegant, unbelievable. Even my left foot although it liked to turn inwards completely, pointing towards my right one.

Of course, I was looking disabled, but I didn't feel disabled, I felt quite "normal" even if I don't know what this means: "normal". We are all different and so nobody is "normal"? I'm me, normal or disabled, doesn't matter. And I'm beautiful, normal and disabled. I like my body as it is, arms and legs involuntary twitching, uncontrollable, useless but beautiful and yes, sexy. And I like it when people are staring at me, for my beauty or my disability, for both or for me at all. There's nothing to hide, not my arms and legs wriggling around, not my braced legs and not my twisted left foot. This is me, my beautiful me, my body, never working as I want, but it's my body. I'm born this way and I don't want anything else. I like me as I am, and I expect the same from everyone else.

I could not stop looking at myself, overwhelming. And I wanted to touch myself, feel myself, my body, my skin. Paula was smiling, opened my better hand and put it on my breast. I can't describe it. I felt the skin of my breast in my palm, soft, smooth and firm. My fingers slid gently over the soft hill of my breast, caressing it tenderly. My nipple got hard. Of course my parents told me about sexuality, how it works, how my body works, but they didn't tell me how a hard nipple feels on my palm. It's fantastic. Paula turned my hand and put my fingers onto the nipple. Now I could touch it, fondle it, play with it. Paula took my hand to the other breast, my fingers to the other nipple and I got it hard at once too. Meanwhile, I was excited and moaned softly.

Paula spread my legs and pressed my hand between them. I felt my hand getting wet as she rubbed it over my cunt. At least she straightened my finger and let it slid into my hole. Paula knew where it is most beautiful and placed my finger on my clit. I was excited that I could finally touch me there, caress me there and feel my wetness, see what I was doing, gorgeously. I wanted this for so long. Paula took my hand and puts it to my mouth, so I could taste and smell myself. Then back to my breast, spread my wetness there, felt my wet nipple between my fingers, played with it, caressed it and watched myself in the mirror, the red heels, my long and slim legs, straightened in braces, Lilian holding me tight. I couldn't help and mound again. Finally, Paula put my hand back to my cunt, guided my finger into the hole and we both pet my clit until I exploded with my first orgasm.

We had a perfect girls evening, and I was totally happy with my friends. I didn't feel disabled, special or different anymore; I felt accepted, included and fully fledged. Later they did my nightly routine, undressed me, put me on the toilet and cleaned me, brushed my teeth, washed me and brought me to bed at least. Paula had another nice idea. She creamed my hands, fingers and my left breast with Vaseline, tied down my legs as usual, fixed my better hand between my legs, one finger deep inside me at the right place, and my right hand at my breast. My right hand has its own life, it's always in motion, my fingers do what they want. I can't stop it or control it in any way. And they liked to squeeze my nipple, caress it, caress the whole breast. My right hand works by itself and the nipple hardened again at once. I could hardly wait to let my finger play in me, feel my new wetness, discover me, caress my clit. As soon as Paula left me alone, I came again. I could hardly find my sleep this night.

Suddenly I got it, yes, I'm a full-fledged woman, in my own way beautiful, attractive and yes, even sexy. With this though I became very calm and fell asleep at once.

Meanwhile, I have a lot of experience. It's like game. I like to date the first time in my favorite café, I like the public, I like to see and be seen and to have people's attention, I love it to see how people stare at me and become uneasy coming close to me. Yes, I look really spectacular, strapped in my wheelchair, my right leg pulled up to my shoulder, my thigh fixed in a sling to prevent me from kicking and also both wrists fixed in slings allowing only small movements. Otherwise, I would clear the table immediately.

Boys are so simple. They have a big mouth, but I have to encourage them to ask me for a date and to show up with me. But it's over when we meet, and I have set free my assistance for a few hours. Then they are alone with me and don't know what to do. I have to tell them how to feed me, to give me a drink and wipe my mouth. My part is always the more active one, not physically of course as I can't do anything by myself, but I decide what we do and how we do.

I am a romantic girl. There is a beautiful viewing terrace upstairs, but it is not accessible. Sometimes I want to sit there. My date has to put my hands and the right foot into the slings at my belt, lift me out of my wheelchair and carry me upstairs, my head at his shoulder. Nevertheless, even with my hands and the right foot fixed I cannot keep my arms still, nor my leg. Of course people stare at me, my twitching arms, the right leg pulled up to my shoulder and my wobbly head are really reason enough. I enjoy this, enjoy people staring at me, being the center of attention. Everybody can my disability. I'm not ashamed of it, I'm beautiful. I'm born this way, this is my body, and I'm in peace with it. Yes, it's my body, although it has its own life and doesn't do what I want. This is me, I'm happy, and I'm proud of it.

I'm not the beautiful girl next door on one hand and the helpless cripple on the other. I'm both, can't be separated, both together make me. The beautiful girl and the cripple are the same. If someone feels attracted to me as a cripple he or she feels attracted to me at all. There's no difference. I am no different from all other people in the world. The entire personality makes the person, not only a part of it. And we all are loved for our wholeness, not only for a part of us.

There are benches on the terrace where we can sit side by side, holding hands, my head at his shoulder. Of course, he has to hold my unstrapped hand tight to prevent accidents, and he has to fix my head to prevent that it wobbles and makes me look moronic. And sitting side by side makes it much easier to feed me and give me a drink.

Yes, boys are so simple. It's easy to drive them crazy. They can hardly stand watching my better leg jerking useless until I get my twisted foot to the wheelchair controls back again. I play with them, let my leg do its own thing for a while and do nothing to stop it. Or I let my arm trash about when I want to hold hands and ask them to catch it and hold my hand tightly.

Boys meet me because of my disability, because I'm different. They want to know how it is to date a disabled girl. They want to see my helplessness, see how I fight with my uncooperative body, how I try to do something and fail of course. For me this doesn't matter. There's no difference if they are attracted by the disabled girl or by the beautiful girl. I'm both, disabled and beautiful, only different sides of the same coin.

Now I like to play with them. I like their helplessness when I want more and try to get my good hand to their trousers to open the fly. Impossible, of course, but with some work I can get my hand there, and I like to feel their dick growing.

Most times we don't sleep together. Boys are so simple. They can't wait long enough. They can't hold on when I ask them to let me touch their dick, and they have to catch my flailing arm, hold my hand to their friend, open my fingers let me feel it. I like to feel the swollen dick in my hand and to knead it. I always want to be more tender, fondle it, be more sensitive, but that's impossible, I can open this hand a bit and close it that's all my hand is able to do since my illness.

Or, first course, when I ask them to undo the sock from my bad right hand, and they see my freakish fingers in motion, opening and closing, straight or bent. Of course, you can untie my hand, take it to your cock and watch my fingers working. I like to feel your cock in my hand, to feel it growing. Yes, it's my hand and my fingers, I feel in the same way as you do, no difference. But it has its own life, parallel to mine, unconnected and independent.

If I like a boy I ask him to lift me out of my wheelchair, put me on my bed and undress me. He must fix my hands and my bad leg into the slings at my belt first otherwise I'll beat or kick him. And he must hold me tight and close to support my weak head like a baby. They always want to see me naked, see how my bad leg rocks me and see my arms flailing around. And they want to see me fighting with my body and helplessly failing.

But this isn't the truth. I don't have a bad leg and a good one, bad arms or arms doing what I want. I have beautiful legs and wonderful arms, my legs and my arms and I love my body as it is. I'm an adult baby and this will never change. But it's ok, this is my life and I love to live this way. It's a question of the perspective. Cerebral palsy isn't an illness for me. It's an attribute like to have brown or blonde hair. Even if I would have the choice for a change I'm sure not to take it. It's more than an attribute, it's a feature. I'm not disabled, I'm differently abled, and I can't have this part without CP.

I like to play with my boys, show them my helplessness, show them my wildly flailing arms, make them flail around some more than they would do by themselves, pull up my leg and let my lower leg work more than it wants. Furthermore, I like to show them all of me, naked, unable to stop my body. And I like to see what I' doing to them, how they get breathless, blush and the exited trembling of their hands. I can't use my arms, my hands or this leg, I can't do anything by myself, I can't even scare away a fly from my nose but my freak arms and my leg give me this power over them. I know that I'm beautiful, and I enjoy seeing how this stunning but useless limbs make me attractive and sexy.

I don't sleep with them. The boys I met so far weren't sincere. I'm their trophy, that's all. Today they want to have fun with me, tomorrow they will boast with me and the day after tomorrow they will look for a new girl.

I have another surprise if they still feel like a hero. I tell them that need to pee. They get stunned at once, helpless, dazed. Hey, I'm the one who needs help. No, I don't need help, I need assistance. This is a difference, assistance is a part of myself, a natural part of my life, but help is something people may give or not.

It's easy, I pee in the same way as any other girl, just fix my arms and my leg again and put me onto the loo. But I can't sit by myself, you have to hold me tight and hold my head all the time I need. And it may take twenty minutes until I can relax enough for my water to come. There's enough time to watch me, my leg pulled up to my shoulder, my foot and both hands fixed but still fighting wildly against the ties. Feel free to enjoy it, I'm spectacular, even on the loo. Sometimes I need to shit at the end. Sorry, my hero, but you must clean me. Of course, I can't do this by myself, you must wipe my butt and wash me, and be gentle with my pussy please.

They all have to learn this lesson. I don't care if they boast with me but we both know the truth. It's quite easy, they aren't a hero anymore, and I'm not a trophy. Bad times for heroes but good times for good friends.