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Nick's Story

My fascination with women unfortunate enough to be physically disabled in some way, and more particularly with single-leg above-knee amputees was triggered, I believe, during a holiday spent with a distant relative, who must, by now, be dead. Due to some circulatory disease he had lost his left leg at mid-thigh, and being a curious six-year-old, I was always asking awkward questions about the artificial leg he sometimes used, and I used to sit in the garden and watch his strange walk, with the stump kicking the rest of the leg for wards, and hear the click as the leg straightened and the odd noises of air escaping, presumably from either the stump moving in the socket of the leg, or the knee control mechanism (as I was to find out in later years). My interest in his artificial leg led to my downfall in a very real way, and stopped any further conscious thoughts for some years. Very early one morning I sneaked into his bedroom to get a closer look at the object of my childish obsession, and, being very careful not to wake him, I carried the leg out on to the landing and spent the next fifteen minutes thoroughly examining it, bending it, and swinging the lower section, although of course it was much too big for me to attempt to use it as a real leg, and I was so far away from puberty that there were no sexual feelings aroused: those were to come later as I would discover. Getting bored with it, I carried it back into the bedroom, and took his crutches to the landing and using the handgrips under my arms had fun pretending to be Long John Silver crutching up and down, but that got boring too, so with the foolishness of youth tried to go down the stairs. Not being familiar with the idea of putting the crutches on the lower step and moving down to that step, I just launched myself down, and succeeded in waking the whole house! The adults just put it down to a harmless game, and I contented myself with merely watching him for the rest of the holiday, but the idea of an artificial leg as an object of interest stayed in the back of my mind until some seven years later.

When I was thirteen, a girl a year or so older than me at school had a leg amputated, due, I think, to some disease, and when school came back after the Summer holidays she was using elbow crutches very competently, and beside her long, strong, tanned, left leg there was nothing at all! I would follow her home from school, watching her from the other side of the road as she swung along with her friends, but one year is huge age gap for teenagers, and I never got the courage to start talking to her, I just watched and started what has become almost 25 years of fantasising. As the wind would blow her skirt against her body it became obvious that in fact she had a stump of about six to eight inches, nicely rounded, and I noticed that occasionally it would twitch, as though she had temporarily forgotten and tried to walk on the missing leg.

She became the subject of my pubescent dreams, and I invented many situations featuring us both, and in some of these she had lost both legs, sometimes just the one, and sometimes I would also be an amputee like her, and in these fantasies we would sometimes have artificial legs and other times we would just swing along together on crutches, either underarm or elbow type, and she would often use just a single underarm crutch, like a beautiful Long Jane Silver! Back in reality it was just the right leg missing, and she always used the elbow crutches so elegantly, but after some months she started coming to school wearing trousers, not because it was getting towards Winter, but because she had started using a peg-leg, although still with crutches. Here was more fuel for my imagination. Now it was not just an attractive girl, who happened to have lost a leg, there was the presence of some of the hardware of rehabilitation for me to think about. I would get a glimpse of the bottom of the peg, with its rocker for a foot, and the wind pressing her trousers to her revealed a tantalising outline of the structure of the peg-leg right up to the stump socket at the top. The temporary harness straps spoiled the nice roundness of her young body, and I felt sorry for her having to change her graceful swing on crutches to a much slower and more awkward limp with the prosthesis, but she wanted to appear more normal I guess, and teenagers, especially girls need to conform to the expected image, although she didn't seem embarrassed when she had been using just crutches with an empty side to her skirt.

At this stage my fantasising took on a more physical expression. Using a pair of walking sticks I had acquired, and strapping two pieces of wood to my thighs with leather belts looped around the tops to take my weight, I became very proficient at walking in my bedroom on my two peg-legs, just as the object of my desire was doing on her one peg and real leg. Stairs were still a great problem for me, but I didn't suffer the catastrophe of my first experiment! My peg-leg walks included trips round the garden early in the morning, but fear of discovery sometimes led me to rush things, which often resulted in a fall, but at least in my mind I felt good about the falls because I imagined real amputees would also fall occasionally, and now I knew what a struggle they had to go through just to walk, never mind getting up after a fall at the end of a day on real prostheses or peg-legs. I made my 'legs' better, with wider belts at the top to take my weight around the inside of my thighs, and belts to hold my lower thighs to the pegs. My lower legs I bent up, and then held them up by putting on a pair of army surplus combat trousers which had a suitably baggy seat to hold my feet securely. My peg-legs now felt very safe and firm, but providing them with feet which would allow me to stand and walk without using the two sticks still presented an insurmountable problem, since my legs didn't have any knees to bend and allow the feet to clear the floor. Still I was able to walk a couple of paces with no sticks before I fell to the floor, and with sticks I had no problems at all, although going down stairs still had to be done back wards, as I later discovered a real DAK amputee is advised to do. In my mind my 'girlfriend', either as a DAK or one-legged, and I walked or rather stumped our way to school, parties, or anywhere else that we would have gone had I had the nerve to ask her. Back in the real world her walking was improving and soon she got her proper leg, which she soon got the hang of, so there went my peg-leg fantasy object, and no more single-legged graceful crutching . She had almost returned to being the unapproachable one-year-older-than-me teen age girl she had been before her loss. She did, however, give me one more image that I still remember, and was a couple of years later, in the middle seventies, when platform boots were in fashion, which, of course, her artificial leg could not cope with, and she went to an end of term disco wearing one black leather, high, platform boot, a knee-length white skirt and tight blouse on top. She walked with a single under-arm crutch and spent the evening like anyone else, dancing, quite well on the single leg and crutch combination, and of course completely mesmerising me, much to the dismay of my date.

During this time I had been using my peg-legs less and less as I discovered other diversions as any adolescent does, but a Saturday job in a newsagent now gave me access to Penthouse and Fiesta, which occasionally had letters from, or more usually praising, amputee women, so the obsession merely cooled down, but did not go away.

I would collect all the letters that those two mags printed, and with each letter published, my own fantasy (and sometimes the mags realised they were printing fantasy letters/wishes), would incorporate some elements of some one else's experience/imagination. Either one or both peg-legs would come out and be used for a couple of weeks, my desires would be secretly satisfied for a while, and a combination of bore dom with, more usually shame at, my secret obsession would reduce my preoccupation with the amputee-as-object-of-desire fantasy.

Living in a resort town in the south west of England provided a few sights of amputees during the Summer months, but there were no resident ladies to give me any regular joy. One of the Summer sightings came into the newsagent's one quiet afternoon, the tell-tale click of her artificial leg instantly alerting me, and on turning round, I almost knocked a beautiful young woman with long blond hair off her feet/foot. Her close-fitting jeans showed the outline of the socket top around her hip/thigh, and a rather bat tered foot in an open-toed sandal gave the impression that she was as active as she possibly could be in her one-legged state, and when she came into the shop the following day one-legged, using under-arm crutches, and wearing a light Summer skirt and top, I had to concentrate very hard on serving other customers to stop myself from finding some spurious job that would need me to be as close to her as possible. Over the course of several other visits she started exchanging the usual banal pleasantries and asking me to reach goods down from shelves out of her reach. During the course of the next week or so she gave me a couple of hints that, had I the nerve, would, I think, have given me the opportunity to ask her out for a drink or a meal. At that stage I was unsure how to read the signals she was giving me, but I now think that she was aware that it was her altered body as much as her pretty face and her personality which I was so obviously captivated by. In fact on one visit to the shop she came up behind me, got my attention, and started searching in her shoulder bag, which she rested on her raised up stump, and crutched down the shop and had me find the paperback she wanted. As you might expect, peg-legs were well used in private during those few weeks as I brought to mind the sight of her both with her leg one, and on crutches. Another sighting was a middle-aged woman, possibly a recent amputee, who had the foot section of peg-leg visible out of the bottom of her well-cut left trouser leg, the use of a single stick, and her gait suggesting that she was possibly a below-knee amputee. Sadly, the local beaches did not afford any glimpses of my ideal type of woman during those years.

In the early eighties, during my first mariage (which did not end due to my strange obsession) I would still indulge myself occasionally, and one very drunken evening, persuaded my wife to tie her legs up behind her in bed, and pretend she a DAK amputee for me. I forget now how I explained why I wanted her to do this for me, and my feelings about it the following day stopped me ever raising the subject again with her. The collection of letters continued to grow, and secret use of the peg-legs after a sighting was also indulged in, although I seemed to see far fewer of my one-legged wonders at that time.

Through nothing other than pure chance, it now happens that my brother-in-law is a double below-knee amputee, and so, although there is no sexual connotation, I now have the opportunity to see at first hand what is involved on a day-to-day basis being without legs. He lost his legs due to a circulatory disease, and his stumps still give him a lot of trouble, and although I have not revealed my particular interest to him, merely seeing his problems makes me glad that I not in his place, although he often uses a wheelchair to become mobile. When I first confided to my wife female amputees held a special fascination for me, she was initially confused and worried, but then went through a phase of acceptance, during which she told me about her brother in America, and the connection with America brought back the images, letters, and fiction that I used buy when I visited Berlin regularly in the course of a job I had in the late 1980s. I still have that collection of articles and cuttings, and if British customs don't class the rest of the magazine as obscene, I will have some more recent back numbers in the near future, together with some of the material that Carol Davis provides.

In conclusion then, I still have the need to see images and the reality of one-legged women, preferably attractive to me in ways that a normal woman is beautiful to me, walking either with crutches or a prosthesis of some type. The woman who made eye contact with me on a crowded tube, who showed her self to an above-knee right leg amputee, first attracted me with her pretty face, but then reduced me a vicarious watcher as I looked across the road at her swinging walk, her stump occasionally showing as a bulge at mid-thigh, was extremely beautiful to me, conventionally, and within the special conditions of my obsessive point of view. She figured in my peg-leg fantasising for some while, but after a time, I resolved to try to meet her, knowing which office building she had walked to. Needless to say I have not seen her since the first two sightings, so my wish to find out what would happen if I were to actually meet an amputee socially still remains a wish, which is probably just as well for the sake of my otherwise happy mariage. I do not wish for my wife to suffer the pain and loss of becoming an amputee, either single or double, AK or BK like my brother-in-law, and I am not about to get a gun and blow my own leg off just yet, but I would welcome the chance (if I could afford them) of buying, and be ing fitted, with one or both proper above-knee prostheses, with real foot and knee-joints etc., so that I could, away from my own residential area, be an amputee for a while. The legs would, I have come to the conclusion, have to have hinged knees, since my sighting, the other day, and close following of a foreign girl with a right leg, which, although bent when she sat down on the bus, stayed rigid at knee and ankle, and did not prove as potent an image for me as either a crutch-user, or any of the other limb-users I have had the good fortune to see recently.

My wish to experience a period of life as an amputee is some thing which I cannot easily ration alise, and certainly not explain to my wife, but it is still a very powerful, if controlled at the moment, urge that I have. Until I come up on the lottery or some long-lost relative leaves me the wherewithal, my peg-legs will get occasional use, and hopefully, I will chance to see, and hopefully have the nerve to talk with, one or two of those, for me, very special ladies, who by accident or birth, have what they regard as a curse, and I think of as a blessing, of only having one, or possibly no legs. Meanwhile, I keep my wishes to myself, live in hope, and delight in the sightings and images I can happen across.

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