Metal & PerfumebyMarty Eagan©
It was Friday afternoon and the hotel bar traffic was building. I sat and sipped a Dewars-and-water and watched the 20-something redhead behind the bar make drinks. Some part of me found her appealing but I was lost in thought. CNN Headline News paraded silently across a large TV monitor attached to the ceiling. I absently scanned a complimentary USA Today and fidgeted with my glass. And then the woman in the tailored blue dress appeared. Time stopped for a moment as she stood in the doorway and hesitantly scanned the room. Our eyes met just briefly as she looked at the bar stools, but it was clear that they would not be easy for her. She seemed to settle on a table near me and began making her way toward it.
Every other eye in the room was on her, too, but not for the same reason mine were. You see, the wonderful creature entering the room was quite disabled. Her allure to me was as much a function of her crutches and the brace on her leg as her aquiline features and nice blonde hair. Oh, don't get me wrong. This girl was a "looker" in her own right with large, firm breasts and a winning smile. Her figure was good for a handicapped 40-ish lady, too. But most of the looks in the room reflected curiosity, discomfort and pity. For me, on the other hand, there was no doubt about it. This was the most astoundingly exciting woman I had ever seen and I knew I had to have her before the night was over.
OK, I'm different. I have always been wildly attracted to the lame ladies. I remember as a kid in the seventies begging to accompany my father to the office because his secretary, Ellen, had caught polio as a young woman and wore a brace on her leg. My father didn't know my motivations, of course, but at the age of 10, I would sit behind a spare desk and in near rapture watch Ellen haul her leg around in its steel and leather. Once I got my drivers license I was also guilty of going to shopping malls alone to surreptitiously follow disabled women around. It's a fetish, plain and simple. There's a scientific name for it—abasiophilia—and it's right up there in the sexual deviancy literature with pedophilia and necrophilia and all the other "feel-ya's." But it should be a little less horrific for you since I don't put anybody else at risk. Basically, like Peter Sellars' character, Chance, in "Being There," I usually just like to watch.
And the woman coming across the bar was giving me a wonderful show. She was using a type of crutch I'm sure you've seen at some point, called the Warm Springs crutch. Basically it's designed for people who don't have a lot of upper body strength and it gives added support to the arms. They were fairly common in the polio era, but you hardly ever see them today. Her crutches were made of dull aluminum and were long, with a single pole at the lower end, branching into two uprights above. Between the uprights were hand-grips and leather-covered open bands clasping both the forearm and the upper arm. A brown leather strap attached to each upper band to keep the crutch from falling should she let go of it. The straps formed loose loops that hung down on each arm.
Now this lady used her crutches expertly, swinging her legs smoothly through them with a certain flowing rhythm. As she came closer I could see her better and I noted something that was distinctly odd. The lovely blue dress came to about mid-calf and I could see the lower portion of the long brace on her left leg. What was unusual was the built-up shoe she wore on her left foot. The brace attached to the heel of the shoe, but the very need for the build-up was at issue since the extra inches of lift caused her right foot to not fully meet the floor. In other words, her legs appeared to be the same length but the lift made her stand on the ball of her right foot. I had never seen this before. Still, her right leg appeared to be semi-paralyzed and it flopped somewhat as she swung herself toward me. Hell...who knows, I thought. But the appearance of a short leg also drove my hormones even further over the edge. It's like that for me: the more crippled, the better. Sad but true.
The lady swung her legs a final time to just next to one of the chairs. She pulled her arms from the crutches, holding them together. Upon pulling the chair back she pivoted on her elevated right foot, reached down to unlock the brace and dropped into a seated position. She took another few seconds to carefully place her crutches on the floor, lift her braced leg under the table, and slide in. At this point had the crutches not been in view she would have looked like a perfectly normal, very pretty lady sitting in the bar.
Never one to dally, I made my move. I stood next to her and asked if I could buy her a drink. She agreed and I sat down, calling to the redhead behind the bar for a Tanqueray and tonic for the lady. I was completely mesmerized by her blue eyes and her wonderful perfume. I'm pretty sure it was "Red Door;" I can tell you for absolute-sure it was incredibly sexy. We each hesitated for a moment but I then started the conversation.
I asked her what she was doing there and she said she was in town on business from Des Moines. She was a data analyst, an IT person of some sort, I gathered. She was wearing a wedding ring, as was I, but I didn't comment on that. She said her name was Jenna and she was bright and cheerful and obviously quite intelligent. I alluded to her disability by asking if flying was difficult for her. She said it was a pain in the ass to get through security nowadays but she managed. Her biggest beef was the lack of legroom on most domestic flights which made it especially hard for her to maneuver in and out.
I took the plunge and asked her straight up about her lameness. She said that she had actually contracted polio from the Salk vaccine when she was a young child (I had heard of these very rare cases before). She had been able to walk with just a brace until a car wreck crushed her right leg and hip. The built-up shoe kept nearly all her weight on her braced left leg and off her fragile right femur and hip. She refused to allow the accident to relegate her to a wheelchair, although she admitted that at times a chair was preferable to the crutches. Nonetheless, she said, in business dealings she found that standing erect seemed to accord her more respect. She felt badly for those who couldn't stand, but since she could, she did in most circumstances.
We talked about lots of other stuff: the political landscape, good wines, great restaurants. It was obvious she had a handle on sophisticated living. We did not talk about marriage or family. We had another round of drinks, and then another. I was feeling tipsy and I knew she must be, too. I suggested dinner but she demurred, asking me instead if I would like to come to her hotel room. I immediately agreed. I grabbed the crutches and helped her to her feet, one of which floated above the floor momentarily as she leaned to slide her arms through the leather loops. A hormonal quiver seized my body at this, but her foot soon regained its tenuous contact with Planet Earth and she launched into a series of long, rapid swings to exit the room.
I quickly dropped two twenties on the table and followed her out of the bar and toward the elevator. In the lobby all eyes were on the lovely Jenna as she made her way across the room. We entered the elevator with another couple who tried to become completely invisible, looking up, down, and in every direction except Jenna's. People don't know how to handle themselves around the disabled, I have learned. They're basically petrified because they don't want to stare. So they don't look or interact with the person at all. It's a shame, but it's true.
Jenna exited the elevator and swung down the corridor of the eighth floor with an incredible smooth grace that had me instantly and massively erect. Actually I had been erect most of the last hour and a half, but until now I'd had a table to hide the fact for me. Now I was in the open and anxious to get to her room before someone else saw me.
We got there and she slid a magnetic key from a pocket I had not noticed before in the blue dress. It occurred to me that she probably needed to be sure there was at least one pocket in all her garments. We entered and she turned and looked at me with obvious desire.
"What would you like to do?" she asked. A question I could have only dreamed of. I told her I would very much like to take her leg brace off myself and make mad, passionate love to her.
"Are you a brace-lover?" she asked. I acknowledged my weakness for her disability and it just seemed to make her more eager.
"Do you like girls on crutches or girls in wheelchairs?" This was a question I was unprepared for. I simply said, "Yes." That summed it up.
Then the adventure began. She lay back on the bed and I gingerly took her crutches from her. Then with speed that surprised even me I undid the clasps and straps that held the brace to her leg. I removed the built-up shoe along with the normal one. I lifted her out of the brace and higher on the bed. Pushing her appliance aside, I kissed her feet and legs with a passion I only get in this situation. Unbelievably, she had the delicious perfume behind her knees and on her toes. Suddenly, she took the initiative and unzipped my pants, allowing my desperate member to assume full attention. She then expertly kneaded and sucked her way to a massive orgasm for me, leaving me spent and somewhat disabled myself.
After a few minutes we finished undressing and crawled under the covers of the huge king-size bed. Two more hours were consumed as we explored every inch of each other's bodies with wild desire and abandon. We then made love slowly and marvelously. I entered from behind, holding her crippled legs and nuzzling her perfumed toes until the inevitable explosion ignited again. I knew that she, too, had experienced more than one orgasm during the course of our lovemaking.
We fell asleep in each others arms, content and blissful. And just for a night I was her macho man and she was my crippled goddess. I can't think of anything nicer, actually. Daylight came too soon for us both.
I awoke to room service's knock on the door. Jenna was sitting across the room in the recliner, reading the paper. The crutches and brace were nowhere to be seen. She got up quickly and padded barefoot to answer the door, allowing the room service guy to bring the tray of breakfast in and set it on the table. I remained in bed as she tipped him and shooed him out of the room. A delicious meal of scrambled eggs, toast, and home fries beckoned and I got to the table quickly.
"Mmmm, this is good," she said. And with a wink, "And so were you."
"Where did you get those fabulous crutches? Baby, oh baby...you made me crazy with those."
"E-Bay. Saw them and bid full price for them a couple of weeks ago. I knew you'd like them."
"Uh, 'like' isn't the word. And the idea of using the one build-up alone...without the other one. The "dangle" effect. That put me over the top. Perfume on the toes was a nice touch, too. You know how much I love your toes. You are very, very good at this...you know that? I don't think anyone would ever doubt you as being bona-fide disabled."
"Well, gee, thanks. And my reward was that it showed. I thought 'Mr. Horne' would break off in your pants. That's pretty exiting for me, too, you know."
"Next month it's my turn, right?"
"Right. I can't wait for you to be blind for me again. Ah, the sense of touch will be greatly celebrated, my darling. Here's to our next time."
With that, my wife and I raised our glasses of Florida orange juice in toast and enjoyed the rest of our morning together. We've been doing this for years, which explains why Jenna is so good acting the role of a handicapped woman. But every episode is different; I never know what to expect. She sets them up and she never disappoints. And neither do I. I can act the part of a blind man so well you'd never suspect the guy Jenna's leading around isn't for real. I'm looking forward to next month almost as much as she is. And then the month after that...well, I can only hope for a new brace or another great new pair of crutches. But she'll decide without my input...and she'll drive me nuts as always. I don't think Viagra's in my future as long as we can do this.
I do love my wife. You should all be so lucky.