Erica Cranston sits on the exam table across from Dr. David Madison in the room, nothing between them. The door is closed. Her knees part wavering nervously. He sits on a low stool, legs crossed, one hand holding his chin as he listens. She’s used to the conversation now. This is not the first she has met with. He wasn’t one the list Margaret had sent her. He is older than the others have been. The graying hair gives him a distinguished look. He is tall, slim, athletic, and handsome.

“All my life,” she answers as her hands drag up along the top of her thighs pulling the skirt with them. By now, he is looking between them. The others did too. Just in case he is having problems seeing, she spreads her legs a little more. She watches him squirm and breathe in deeply.

“Ah, what would I use for a diagnosis?” He adjusts his position on the stool, probably to give his erection more room in his pants.

“Can’t you just use another patients pathology reports? I need my leg amputated and I’m getting tired of making appointments … tired of no one willing to help me.”

“Well-l-l.” The word drags on forever. Still sitting on the stool, he leans back against the wall and changes which leg is crossed. His arms cross against his chest. A few fingers pull his chin. The sight under her skirt that is becoming more visible as she continues to pull it up distracts his attention to the conversation.

“Shame on you,” she teases.

“Ah, um.” He drops his hand and sits up again.

She lifts the hem of the skirt up to her waist fully exposing herself. “Nice, isn’t it?” The others stared. One even did more than look. Erica was willing to do anything to have her left leg amputated.

“Yes,” he says uncertain of what she is suggesting.

She leaves the skirt resting against her stomach and leans casually back against one hand. Her tongue drags across the lower lip. “Touch it … if you want.” Her voice is velvet smooth and sultry. She looks directly into his eyes. “You do, don’t you?”

Pulling with a foot, he rolls the stool closer. His white lab coat brushes against her knee as he stops. “The surgery….” He pauses and touches the inside of her upper leg just above the knee. “Some people do quite well afterwards.” His finger makes an invisible mark.

“Higher,” she whispers. “Much higher.” His finger continues marking in the same place. She takes his hand and moves it until it is several inches below the top of her thigh. She makes a new mark with the same finger of his hand. “Here.”

“You probably wouldn’t be able to use a prosthesis.”

“I don’t want to.” She pulls his hand higher.

His finger enters her, filling her. She gasps at the enormity of it, bigger than any cock. She’s never felt anything like it, never filled with a single finger. She grabs at his wrist. She gasps in pleasure first, then in pain. She can’t pull the hand away. She looks. He is wearing only his lab coat and a surgical mask. He positions himself at the foot of the exam table. “I would be happy to remove both legs.” His finger slides out of her giving him space to insert his cock. “You’d look wonderful without legs.” Her head swings from side to side as she hears his words. She opens her mouth. Nothing comes out. Her mouth forms the word NO. She is unable to force the word away. She feels his weight on her. She attempts to spread her legs then to lift them, to wrap her feet against his back. Nothing moves. “They are gone now. Don’t you love being legless?” She feels him riding her, filling her with his cock. He is huge, long. Each stroke takes minutes seeming to never end. Each stroke takes her though at least one orgasm, often more. She attempts to caress his face. Her left hand will not move. The right hand as well. “They are gone,” he assures her.

Erica sits up straight like a shot, naked in the darken bedroom. A cold sweat covers her. The ceiling fan turns slowly. The cool night breeze flutters the curtains. She flips the covers towards the foot of the bed.

“Wow!” she moans as she reassures herself the leg is really missing and nothing else. It had been for several years since the amputation. The dream was a strange amalgam of the doctors she had approached. She has had the dream before. She knows it well. Her fingers touch the few inches of thigh remaining of the left leg. She rolls the soft flesh of the end in her palm enjoying the results. A finger curls the nipple of one breast and she lets a sigh blow between her lips.

She twists letting her foot drop to the floor then she hops to the writing desk a small distance from the bed. She flips to a blank page and clicks the pen exposing the tip.

Tuesday – woke up thinking about David.

She then drops the pen at an angle on the page and leans back interlocking her fingers behind her head. “Yeah,” she says aloud looking past her breasts riding atop her chest into her lap with the long slim right leg in stark contrast to the short stump next to it. She rests the foot on the edge of the desk. The toes wiggle. Past thoughts of places far away overtake her.

Joanne niğde escort grips Erica’s upper arm. “Poor woman,” she whispers looking away from the slightly older woman walking on crutches with a single leg appearing below the hem of the soft yellow summer dress.

Erica feels her breath finish the last of the remark against her cheek. She scans the area until she sees the woman leaving the bank across the street half a block away. She watches long enough to memorize the images of the foot swinging between the crutches as the woman walks towards the intersection.

Their shoulders press together. “Poor woman,” Joanne whispers again. Her hand still grips Erica’s arm as though she might flee. She would be following the woman if she were alone. Erica glances at Joanne still watching the woman. Quickly she looks back not wanting to miss a single step. “What do you think happened?” asks Joanne.

“Probably asked a doc to cut it off,” Erica teases still watching as the woman stops to press the button on the post for the walk signal. “Doesn’t she walk well?”

“That’s rude.”


Joanne frowns looking at Erica. “Suggesting she wanted to be that way.” Smiling, her attention returns to the woman still waiting at the intersection. “She does walk well. Have you ever had to use crutches?”

“Some. I didn’t mind.”

“Oh God, I did! It was only for a week because of a sprained ankle, but it was awful.”

“But you knew it was only for a week, at least a short time and not forever … so you probably never took time to learn how to do it well or to develop the muscles to let you do it well.” The light changes and the woman crutches to the other side of the intersection. “Just watch her. She has a lot of grace in her moments. Just watch. She is great.”

“Erica, I almost think you’re getting turned on.” Joanne giggles and lets her hand slide down the arm until she holds her hand for a moment before letting go. Erica sighs as she once again begins to breathe. They both continue to watch until the woman is out of sight.

“Wasn’t she impressive? If I had one leg and walked on crutches, I would hope that I would be able to be that graceful.”

“I doubt you will ever need to have only one leg. Are you still up for lunch?”

“Yeah. I hope we can get a sidewalk table.”

“Why, so you can watch for her?” Joanne smiles and pulls on Erica’s hand.

The planned destination is the Palm, a hip lunch spot in the next block on Elm. At two in the afternoon, the lunch crowd has long vanished. As Erica requests, the hostess seats them at a table in the shade along the sidewalk.

“You happy?” Joanne asks sarcastically while pulling her chair noisily underneath her. She crosses her legs and let a foot swing back and forth. The modestly high heel shoe dangles from the toes of the swinging foot. Flipping the menu open, her eyes bounce nervously between the page and Erica’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah, work. Connie was a bit of a bitch this morning. The girl just goes crazy.” Her finger follows an entry in the menu as she reads. “Hate most of my co-workers.” She flips the page and then flips it back. “Guess I’ll do the old standby, the bacon cheeseburger.”

“That sounds good.” Erica closes the menu and stares blankly at the building across the street replaying the mental video of the woman on crutches.

“Earth to Erica,” Joanne says waving her hand in front of Erica’s face. She grins and giggles.

Erica turns her head slowly. “What?”

“You were somewhere else … thinking about that woman, huh?”

“You like women … right? Would you kick her out of bed just ’cause she has one leg? She was really nice looking … even I thought so.”

“Oh my. Are you ready to switch teams?” Joanne laughs and bites into the burger. Holding the burger still, she looks at Erica. “I keep telling you there’s a cold space in my bed if you are.” She laughs and bites into the burger again.

“Sometimes your offers are tempting. Jack isn’t coming over much anymore. I thought I was giving him….” Erica becomes silent and takes the first bite of the burger then sips on the ice tea.

“Good head? But does he return the favor?” There is a slight sparkle in her voice. She drags her tongue across her lips. “Now that’s what’s so great about two women in bed.”

“I’ll take your word for it … for now.” She giggles. “He was okay.”

“Past tense huh? Does that mean you two aren’t an item anymore?”

Erica’s head shakes slightly as she thinks about the tone of his voice when he yelled at her and slammed his fist against the wall the other evening. The way the door slammed as he left. The way the phone never rang as she waited for him to call and apologize. She knew it was over. She had told him something he would have never understood and he could not take it.

Joanne reaches over and rests her hand on Erica’s hand. “Hey, we’ve been friends for several years. You can talk to me about anything. What’s going on?” Erica looks up, the ordu escort smile now gone replaced by a blank stare. Soon a tear begins to form and she dabs at it with the edge of her hand. “Does this have anything to do with that amputee woman?” Joanne gazes into Erica’s eyes, hers flutter slightly while she caresses her hand.

Erica shakes her head knowing she cannot talk about her feelings. Images of Jack’s reaction again flash though her head. She glances at the empty plates. “No,” she finally whispers. “Thanks for caring.” She straightens in the chair. “Thanks for lunch.” She grabs the check and pulls a credit card from her purse.

“Let me get it. You paid last time.”


“Well, I guess I need to run. I’m going to be late for a meeting.”

“I need to sit for a while. I’m going to get a refill on my ice tea.” Erica watches Joanne walk away and lets the straw rest between her lips. Her eyes drift along the sidewalk knowing she will not see the woman. She wants to. The server pours more tea and Erica rips another bag of sugar over the glass. Half an hour later Erica walks from the restaurant.

Erica sits at the writing desk. A glass of Merlot sits at the corner of the desk. She stares at the blank page and fiddles with the pen spinning in her fingers. She lets half the glass pour into her mouth while reflecting. Erica writes in her journal.

Thursday – Watched a woman with one leg as she walked along the sidewalk using crutches – gracefully. Joanne didn’t know. I didn’t tell her.

She lays the pen at an angle on the page and sips the wine. “Yeah, she was lovely,” she whispers aloud to herself and lets another sip roll gently along her tongue. She unbuttons the blouse and pushes her hand though the waistband of her jeans finding bare skin. Watching the slideshow of pictures of amputee women dance across the computer screen, she lets her fingers dance between her legs.

The glass now empty and the orgasm over, she again picks the pen up. One end taps against her lips then she begins to write.

Goddamn these feelings overwhelm me. They always have, but now they consume every waking moment. I never

She stops without finishing and leans back then pours more wine into the glass, the fourth time this evening. The unbuttoned blouse drops beside the chair before taking another sip of wine. Against she scratches out the last two words and writes.

These feelings have been a part of me since early childhood. Where they came from, I have no clue. I must begin searching for a solution. What kind of solution is there? How do I find it?

The pen rests again and she stands letting the jeans slide along her long legs. Stepping from them she takes the bottle and walks naked though the darkened house. Lips coated with wine, her tongue wipes them clean, and then she coats them again. “Goddamn,” she groans aloud leaning her arms on the kitchen counter and her head on them. She slams her fist against the marble. “Goddamn.”

The ceiling fan turns slowly overhead. Only the computer screen lights the room. Erica’s heart pounds as she reads the new e-mail from Margaret. That is what she calls herself. Who knows if the person is a she or a he, telling the truth or just getting their jollies at her expense?

Hello Erica, sorry you are having such trouble. I’ve enjoyed our exchange of e-mail these few weeks. Here are four names of doctors that might be willing to help. I asked the doctor that amputated my leg and he is unable to help you or anyone. After me, he feels lucky to still practice medicine. Margaret.

Erica lets the breeze from the fan wash over her naked body for a moment as she absorbs what she has just read. She walks by the printer and carries the page with the e-mail, a picture of Margaret with her stump exposed, and the addresses of doctors to the kitchen. She pours a small amount of whiskey into a glass and washes her mouth with the brown liquid then lets it fall through her throat. “Ah-h,” she gasps as the burn begins to vanish. Five more swigs and she returns to bed.

“Yes, Margaret Schmidt. Don’t you know her?” Erica sits in the small plain exam room of the second doctor on the list. It has taken two months to see Dr. Alfred Barlow, vascular and plastic surgeon. She again looks at the man. Distinguished, older, graying hair, nice features, inspiring, all the qualities a person would want in a surgeon.

“You need your leg amputated. Why?” He shifts in his chair as his hands examine her thigh and knee.

It was a question she had asked herself a million times. She had no answer for herself so how could she answer him. “All my life I’ve needed it amputated. I can’t go on this way.”

His hand rests on her knee and she lets the other move away slightly. He looks along the inside of the thigh at the part of her that is becoming more visible. He smiles. She does too.

“Maybe below the knee. You could successfully wear a prosthetic leg that way. It would be less disabling.” He continues to look under her skirt while rize escort talking. “Such a lovely woman … why would you want to cripple yourself?”

“I don’t think of it that way.”

“How do you think of it then?”

“I see my left leg ending in a stump. Right now it ends in a leg and that is plain wrong.” Her right knee moves farther away from the other. “I know some people, most I’m sure, would think like you do that I would be disabled. I would see myself becoming more like how I should be.”

He rubs his chin and adjusts himself on the stool. “Hmmm.”

“If I asked to have my breasts enlarged or made smaller, would that be disabling? No! I’m just asking to have my body altered slightly. Can’t you see?”

“Well Ms. Cranston, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to help you now. Perhaps if you come back in a year and still want this, we can talk more.”

Erica wipes at the tears forming in her eyes and a frown covers her face. “Why not now?”

“‘Cause this can’t be undone. I don’t want to cause you any harm.” He sits upright still looking under her dress.

She grins in acknowledgement. “Don’t you want to touch me … there?”

“I’d get in less trouble if I amputated your leg young lady.” He smiles.

She leaves herself exposed. “Do you know of any other doctors I could talk to that would help?”

He shakes his head and stands. “How many have you talked with?”

She stands letting her skirt fall along her thighs. “You’re the second. Margaret gave me four names.” She holds Margaret’s e-mail up towards him.

He takes the page and reads it then shakes his head. “I don’t know any of them. Is she happy now?” He hands it back.

“I’ve never met her in person. She says she is.”

“Listen, call me in three months. We’ll talk. I can’t promise you anything … understand?” He shakes her hand and leaves the room.

Nighttime is her favorite time to write. Dressed in only a clean wifebeater undershirt and black boy cut panties, Erica makes another entry in her journal. She drinks another glass of Merlot in the process. The bottle is nearly empty now.

Friday – I met with another doctor. Same fate. Same answer. I’m more depressed than before. This is making life harder, not better. What will I do?

She flips the calendar and looks at the big scrawl a week later. Three o’clock, Dr. Marks. Will it be any different she ponders tiling her head back and letting the wine pour into her mouth from the bottle. She sits the bottle down hard. “NO!” she screams aloud while looking at the new crutches resting against the wall.

“Hello?” she angrily slurs into the phone after the third ring.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No Joanne, not really. I’m just going though a bad moment. There’re too many of them these days. Having a few drinks to help smooth things out.” Erica laughs and begins to pour another glass. Before any lands in the glass, she stops then drinks from the bottle.

“Can I help?”

“Not unless you know a….” Erica stops herself before finishing the sentence. She drinks from the bottle again.

“Know who … what?”

“Nah. I’m okay. Guess I need to do a few things before I go to bed.” She clicks the button and hears the dial tone.

The phone rings again. “Don’t hang up!” Joanne says instantly. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“It’s something I can’t talk about. I’ve never been able to.”

“I’m coming over. Give me fifteen minutes.”

“No!” Erica screams into the dial tone. “Fuck,” she groans as she puts the phone down.

The door slams shut as Joanne wraps her arms around Erica. “Honey. What’s wrong?” She kisses her cheek and her hands rub the small of the back trying to console. She listens to the quiet sobs. Erica does not pull away but remains tightly pressed against her friend.

Erica eventually pushes away. “I’m not going to talk about this. Not now, not ever.”

“It’s not good to hold this inside.” Joanne pulls Erica’s hand until they are sitting next to each other on the couch.

“Sorry, it is just my darkest secret. Can’t….”

“Shhh,” Joanne hisses with a finger across her lips. “Listen to me.” Her head shakes a few times as she rests her hands in her lap and looks at them silently for a minute. “I was born a boy.” Her voice is quiet. “It’s been ten years since I had surgery to fix that small problem.” She giggles and looks at Erica. “I don’t tell anyone. It’s none of their business. I think you need to know so you can talk to me about your problem.”

Erica just stares in silence at Joanne for a while. “Thanks for sharing that with me. I appreciate it. I would have never known.”

Joanne takes Erica’s hand in hers. She smiles and gives Erica a small kiss on the lips then sits back up.

“The woman on crutches that day….” Erica takes her hand back and leans against the arm of the couch. She runs her fingers though her hair a few times then pulls it back in a long ponytail before fluffing it out across her shoulders. Joanne watches in silence knowing Erica will talk when ready. “I should be like her.”


“I always have felt that way, kind of like you feeling you were in the wrong body. Sure there are differences. It isn’t a good analogy, I know. It does paint the right picture though.”

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