Memoir of a Lame Girl

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msgimply
msgimply
41 Followers

On the outside, I still dressed rather drably compared to the general run of girls. But underneath, it was a completely different matter. My experience working for the fancy shops kept me informed about what the most daring ladies were wearing. I followed suit in my own underthings. I made my shifts and drawers only from silk. I made lace to trim them and adorned them with ribbons. I embroidered my petticoats and edged the hems in lace, too. I found that I could often use bits and scraps of material left from sewing for my clients.

But, of course all this was kept from the view of everyone but Mister Billings and me. On the street I was just the poor little lame girl. In Mister Billings' rooms it was a different story altogether. I would remove my dress and model each new garment. Mister Billings was always most attentive.

I learned that I could gauge his reaction by watching for the telltale stirring in his trousers. I never let him know that I was watching and I never even told him about it until he was in his last illness. His member was like my secret weatherglass. I could read him like a seaman can read the clouds.

After a long period of regular work I was able to afford two pairs of the most delicate silk hose. For a while I was unable to support them on my crippled limbs. Finally I hit upon a solution. I made a shift that was shorter than usual. At its hem I attached suspenders for the hose. The scheme worked superbly. The hose stayed on perfectly no matter how I moved. I was ready to show them to Mister Billings.

After eager anticipation, the next time we were together I removed my high shoes and showed my silk clad feet to Mister Billings. His weatherglass responded. Then I coyly lifted my dress and petticoat. a bit and also lifted my drawers to expose more limb. If his member had been an actual barometer I would have expected gale force winds to blow.

Then in a husky voice, he asked me to please remove my dress and petticoat so that he could see more. With his eyes constantly on me, I complied. Then I stood before him clad only in shift and hose and drawers, leaning on my crutch.

He came to me and knelt. He put his hands on my limbs and I could feel his sweet caress through the two layers of silk. After a time he lowered his hands to the lace trimmed hems of my drawers and put his fingers just inside. Now there was only one sheer layer of silk and his caresses were exquisite.

I felt my waves of ecstasy build as he kneeled before me in an attitude of worship. While he caressed me, I felt his breath through the silk and I longed for it to be closer. With my free hand, I untied the ribbon that held my drawers. They fell to the floor in a little silken heap.

The his hands and his breath ranged over the whole of my hose while I moaned and I shuddered. His lips found their way to the top of the silk and then beyond. Light little kisses showered the places with no silken barrier. I trembled and whimpered. My crutch clattered to the floor and I supported myself on his shoulders.

Then with delicious slowness, his tongue found its way under my mound of curls. It darted in and out, teasing, promising, withholding. Then it settled in that special place and flitted there like a little bird. I put a hand behind his head and and clutched him to me. The waves crashed and overwhelmed me. I screamed and doubled forward over him.

Without his support I would have slumped like a rag doll to the floor. I had no will left. My whole reality was the sensation of him and my desire for him and the relentless probing of his tongue. Another, larger, wave broke over me and I sobbed and grasped him even tighter.

Then I was incapable of movement or of coherent thought. I felt him move me and cradle me in his arms. He arose and carried me to his bed. Because of the state I was in I cannot form any exact memory of the rest of that night. I do vividly remember waking in his arms as the morning light crept in the window. I was still clad in shift and hose.

We went on like this for over a year. I was happy and contented. I would have let things go on the same way as long as it was going to last. Then one day, Mister Billings shyly told me he had accepted a new position at a boarding school in a country town some distance from the city. My heart sank. I realized that with him so far away, we couldn't possibly be together often.

He sensed my distress and without meeting my gaze, he said that he wanted me to come with him. I told him that was out of the question as it would jeopardize his position to have a kept woman. We would surely be discovered and he would be dismissed.

He hastened to say that I had misinterpreted his intent. He wanted me to be Mrs. Billings. He wanted me to be his wife. I was stunned beyond words. I had never dreamed it. It was impossible. We couldn't go about in public as man and wife. It was out of the question.

It took him a long time to convince me, but he gradually wore down my objections. Eventually I agreed and we were married before a magistrate with the magistrate's clerk and my doubting landlady as attendants.

In spite of my trepidations, our marriage was sweeter than I ever could have imagined. The people at Mister Billings' school were uncomfortable at first when he arrived with his crippled wife. But we soon settled in and they became accustomed to us. We took a small house nearby to the school and settled down to a comfortable life.

We bought a pony to pull a little wicker cart that gave me the freedom of the village and beyond. I let my clothes become quite smart and gradually built a clientele of ladies for whom I made dresses and accessories.

I know that people wondered what we did behind the closed doors of our bed chamber. I think that many of them believed we must certainly be chaste and celibate. I said nothing to disabuse them of this idea. I was happy to be a poor cripple in public.

But when we were alone, It was always as sweet and magical as it was in that first year. It was better in many ways as my body learned to respond and to fit with his. And I never once felt even a twinge of shame at any of the things we did together.

I continued with the old custom of publicly referring to him by his surname. He was always Mister Billings. I used his Christian name only to address him when were alone together. Even then I called him Mister Billings when I teased him by playfully accusing him of taking advantage of a poor lame girl. I often did that when I was showing him some new undergarment that I had sewed. It was invariably the prelude to passionate intimacy.

And so our lives went on. I have few regrets. Of course we did not have children. My body ruled that out. But there were generations of schoolboys that we entertained and helped with their studies. My life in the orphanage had made me quite sympathetic to the pains and problems of the boys in the boarding school.

Right up to Mister Billings' last illness we would lie together without clothes and discuss books. Some times I would sit by his bedside and do my sewing. As ill as he was he was still interested in any garment I made from silk. Those memories are as beautiful as the early ones.

I've told this story to cheer and encourage all the girls who are lame or badly formed or have missing limbs. My message is simple. Do not close yourselves away. Open your hearts to love and intimacy. Do not be ashamed of your bodies. Intimacy, emotional and physical, is possible for you and is your right. When it comes to you, welcome it with open arms.

A Lame Girl.

August 1937

msgimply
msgimply
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12 Comments
Paul4playPaul4playalmost 3 years ago

Lovely romantic sensual story. Well told and arousing! Thank you.

oldpantythiefoldpantythiefover 4 years ago
Taken at face value

I'm not here to pick apart the story, I found it a great love story with warmth and feeling. True or not, it is a love story that deserves five stars. Old or new, the lesson is the same, like they say, "don't judge a book by it's cover" or a person by their abilities or disabilities. Well done!

kalodinkalodinabout 6 years ago
A Remarkable Tale

So well told in literate, allusive and oh so sensual words and sentences. Well done!

BestreadingBestreadingabout 8 years ago
Very good storytelling!

Liked the period approach and overall presentation. Continuing writing, and I will for one, continue reading

Thanks

CaribbeanwomanCaribbeanwomanabout 11 years ago
romantic and stirring

I quite enjoyed your story, real or not. You have a beautiful writing style that grabbed and kept my attention throughout. I see many lame or disfigured persons, especially after our 'modern' wars, and although you may not look like the rest of us, your passion and sexuality are still there. I hope that you will all allow yourselves to live and enjoy life, and loving, and good fucking, like the two in this story.

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