Since then Fenella and I have stayed in touch, but fortunately,

the passions so nearly triggered on that first occasion have not

been re-aroused, thanks to some events closer to home, of which

more later. 



	The conversation with Alex and more particularly, meeting and

being given a selection of footwear chosen by his one-legged

wife, had rekindled my interest in my dress, and over the next

few days I experimented with many more styles, trying to devise

outfits which would attract these unknown men who liked lame

girls. My own taste was the foundation, but I worked on that

until I felt I had adapted it to my new life with one leg. 



	Nowadays I like big frilly skirts which swirl in the space

where my leg was, but it's also fun to wear a skirt with a slit

up the side, sometimes almost up to the hip, so that I show some

thigh. I never have the split on my left side, though...I didn't

want people to see too much of my stump! 



	Another of my favourites is a really tight sheath-skirt so that

the outline of my stump shows. Having one leg actually makes it

much easier to wear this style, for the obvious reason that

since I have no actual stride, it doesn't matter how tight the

skirt is. 



	The same goes for jeans, and if mine were skin-tight before I

lost my leg, they became even tighter now. I tried most of them,

experimenting at the same time with ways of handling the empty

left leg. Folding it up and pinning it produced an awkward lump

of cloth which got in the way, tucking it into the waistband was

scarcely possible, they were so tight, and besides, obscured the

line of my hip, and leaving it dangling was untidy, making me

feel as though I had them on wrong. Eventually I decided that it

was me who'd changed by becoming one-legged, which logically

meant I ought to wear one-legged trousers. Quickly, before I

could start getting maudlin about it, I cut the left leg off

each pair, and took great trouble to tailor the resulting pocket

so that the outline of my stump was fully revealed, but for

slacks, which I find convenient at times, I prefer to see a

looser-fitting pocket with a sharp crease. 



	Apart from the subtraction of my leg and addition of two

crutches, this is more or less how I'd dressed before, and as a

result, my one-leggedness is startlingly obvious. However,

that's intentional, since I have always liked strutting my

stuff, and have decided that I will continue to do so in spite

of having lost my leg. 



	One of the most important facets of being one-legged is other

people, and their reactions when they see I've lost a leg. As

may be expected, I experimented with various tactics and

techniques designed to provoke such reactions, with several

notable successes, though simple surprise remains my favourite. 



	As I said earlier, I have no contact with my parents and I have

no brothers or sisters, so my closest relations are uncles,

aunts and cousins, none of whom I like much, so I had decided to

lose touch with most of them, but I'm quite close to one cousin,

and I kept up with her. She provided a really classic case. Of

course, my amputation was a particular shock, to Jane; she's a

dancer, so legs are very important to her, and the loss of mine

would seem all the more poignant to her as a result. 



	She'd been on tour for the previous two months, so she'd heard

nothing about the accident, I didn't mention it on the 'phone,

when she called, about two weeks after I came home. When she

arrived an hour or two later, I was in my bedroom. As usual, she

let herself in. 



	"Hello!" I called, "I'll be out in a minute." 



	"Don't rush." she answered, then added, "What's all the

thumping, though?" 



	"It's me." I replied, "And this is why." I continued, swinging

into the room on my crutches. "You see, my leg's gone!" 



	For a moment she said nothing, just sat there with her eyes

getting bigger and bigger as they travelled from my face, down

my skirt to my leg, which I had carefully clad in an ultra-sheer

tan stocking and shod with a high-heeled tan court. 



	"Ahhhh...." she said, softly. 



	"Sorry, if I shocked you." I apologised, wondering whether I'd

overdone it a bit. 



	"You really have lost a leg?" Jane asked, finally regaining her

composure, "You aren't just playing a trick on me?" 



	"Take a look!" I retorted, lifting my skirt to reveal my stump. 



	"How did it happen? When? Why didn't you tell me? You must be

terribly upset!" she gabbled in a rush. 



	"Oddly enough, no, not especially. I seem to know how to cope." 



	"It must feel awful, though?" 



	"I don't know about 'awful'...it certainly feels very peculiar.

 " I answered. 



	"But what happened? I mean, couldn't the doctors do something?" 



	"No...it was a thrombosis. By the time anyone knew what was

wrong, my leg was dead, and if they hadn't amputated, it would

have gone gangrenous, and I might have died" I told her. 



	"How long ago was this?" 



	"Must be six or seven weeks ago, now." 



	"How do you cope, though...I'd just die if somebody said they

were going to cut my leg off!" 



	"I didn't know it was going to happen." I said, adding, "And

it's not as bad as that, you know!" feeling slightly stung, but

nonetheless enjoying her reaction to my one-leggedness. This was

almost how I'd imagined life after my amputation would be...full

of conversations and discussions about what it was like to be

young, female and pretty, and to have lost a leg. 



	"Are you going to get an artificial leg?" 



	"I don't think so." 



	"And will you always dress like that?" 



	"What, you mean, high heel, stocking, tight skirt and so on?" 



	"Yes...isn't it a bit obvious?" 



	"Why do you ask?" 



	"Oh, come on...It's quite obvious you put that shoe on so's I'd

notice it...that heel must be five inches!" 



	"Actually, it's only three-and-a-half. More than that and I

find my leg gets tired very quickly." 



	"Don't people stare, when they see your legs...sorry...er,

leg?" 



	"'course they do...I just have to put up with it, though.

They'd stare just as much once they realised that one of my legs

was made of metal, as they eventually would, so why bother to

hide it?" 



	"Feels odd, talking about 'your leg', instead of 'your legs'" 



	"I bet it doesn't feel half as odd as having only one leg to

talk about!" 



	"What about men?" she asked, her mind ever on her favourite

subject. 



	"I haven't tried yet...my stump's still a bit tender, but

apparently some guys find it a real turn-on!" 



	"With only one leg? That sounds a bit incredible!" 



	"It seems that some guys like one-legged girls...and if so, I'm

not about to object to that!" 



	"Well, for your sake, I hope so, too, but it sounds really

wierd!" 



	"What's wrong with it?" I asked, "You're making me feel like a

freak!" 



	"I'm sorry...I just can't get used to the idea of you with one

leg. I didn't mean you were weird, or that any guys you have a

thing with are. Just that I can't imagine trying to pull a guy

if I were on crutches." 



	"I'll give you lessons, when I know how!" I promised, jokingly. 



	"Ooooh, I hope not...I know, I'd just kill myself!" 



	Once Jane had overcome her initial surprise and shock at

suddenly seeing her cousin, who had apparently been in perfect

health the last time we'd met, was now on a pair of crutches and

with a leg off, she didn't seem too bothered, though, and plied

me with a barrage of questions. 



	"What's it like, having one leg?" she asked. 



	"Like having one leg, and nothing else!" I retorted. 



	"Yes, I suppose so. Silly question, really. Sorry." 



	"Oh, don't be...it's a perfectly natural question." I reassured

her, "I don't think I could possibly describe it, though...as

you may imagine!" 



	"You must find it awfully hard to get about, and terribly

tiring, though?" 



	"No, not especially. Crutches aren't heavy, and I'm much

lighter without my leg. And one develops all sorts of tricks and

stuff, to make it easier." 



	"Like what?" 



	"Well, if I need both hands free in the kitchen, I can't use my

crutches, so I pull a drawer open and rest my stump on it, for

example." 



	Jane flinched slightly at my easy use of the word 'stump', but

nodded affirmatively. 



	"That, and a lot more besides." I continued. "It's quite fun,

working out new ones! Actually, you could help me work out a new

one.  " 



	"What's that?" she asked. 



	"Well," I started, leaning confidentially towards her, "you

know how sometimes you wiggle your bum when you want to catch

some guy's eye, or you do if you have two legs?" I asked. 



	"You mean, like this?" she said, jumping up and strutting off

down the room, her hips rotating exaggeratedly. 



	"That's it!" I agreed, as she returned, walking more normally,

but still with a noticeable and sexy swing in her pelvis. "You

see, I know I can't do it properly, but even though I'll only be

able to do it on one side, with one leg, I reckon I could get

quite an effect. The problem is, I can't see behind me." 



	"So you want my comments?" 



	"You could make suggestions, at least. You're a dancer and you

know all about movement." 



	"Alright!" Jane agreed, "Let's have a look at you!" 



	Aware that she was now looking at me as a professional, I stood

as gracefully as possible and tucked my crutches under my arms.

I straightened my back and set my shoulders. "Ready!" I said. 



	"Ok...off you go." 



	I tried, but as I reached the other end of the room and turned

round, I knew I'd looked like a shambles, and one look at Jane's

expression confirmed my opinions. 



	"You want the truth?" she asked. 



	"Why not...it can't be worse than I expect." 



	"Come and sit down again." 



	I did as she said, and she took my hand. "Let me ask you

something." she began. 



	"Sure, ask away!" I supplied. 



	"Firstly, did you really mean what you said, about me teaching

you to move well?" 



	"Yes!" 



	"Ok, then am I right in thinking that actually you want to show

that you're like this?" 



	"Correct!" 



	"Ummm..." she went, then looked up. "Well, I don't know much

about it, crutches and stuff, but if that's what you want, I'll

do my best!" 



	"I'd appreciate it...you see, I know that I can't hide a

missing leg...it's just too obvious, and anyway, I'm not ashamed

of it, so why should I?" 



	"That's true." she agreed. 



	"And even though I only have one leg, it's one of a pair which

used to be worth showing, so even on it's own it could be

attractive...couldn't it? I mean, if you didn't know I'd lost

the other one, it would, wouldn't it...so why not even when you

can see I'm an amputee?" 



	"I see your point. But won't that make it more obvious, too?" 



	"Yes, I suppose so. I don't mind that, though." 



	"Sounds like you mean you want everyone to look!" 



	"Why not?" I asked. 



	"Well, if you want to do it, I'll help, but the truth is that

you look terribly ungainly." 



	"I know. That's what I felt. Normally I'm not as wobbly as

that.  " 



	"Performance nerves, I guess." Jane reassured me. 



	She may not have known much about crutches and one-leggedness,

but once she realised that I really meant to work at learning to

move gracefully, she took over my entire deportment, in fact,

and was a hard task-mistress, keeping me at it for several days

before she let me try to add a little sexiness to the grace and

elegance we had worked so hard to achieve. 



	Eventually, however, my crutch-walking improved to the point

that even Jane admitted that there was something rather

fascinating about the way I moved, and that she began to

appreciate my one-leggedness, so that instead of seeing it as

something awful, she agreed that it could be rather exotic and

different. 



	This was all, I admit, in emulation of Fenella, who had made

such efforts to adapt to the loss her own leg that she just

seemed delightfully 'different' instead of dreadfully injured. I

may be more than a little narcissistic, but I found that as I

gained in skill, I began to enjoy looking at myself in the

mirror. I spent hours in front of it, both in the nude and

fully-dressed, assessing the effect of various poses and dresses

and learning to properly project my one-leggedness. 



	I was delighted to find that even though I became more familiar

with my amputation, I never found it boring...when you're on

crutches, everything becomes an adventure, but apart from that

pleasure, I could, and still do, simply like seeing a skirt from

which only a single leg shows. And the knowledge that it's my

single leg...that's ecstasy! I revelled in the sensation of

freedom, which may sound odd, but I felt liberated from my leg,

rather than deprived of it, and now it was alone, my remaining

leg seemed to be stronger and all the more beautiful! 



	Everybody but Sarah, Alex and Fenella assumed that my immediate

concern would be to be fitted with an artificial leg, and I soon

realised that to most people, my use of crutches was viewed as a

temporary arrangement. I wasn't so sure, though...as I became

used to them, I began to find them a very comfortable way to

move around. Certainly, it soon became quite natural to have to

tuck them under my arms before I could go anywhere. 



	I knew much less about an artificial leg, but from the little

I'd heard, I suspected that it would be extremely uncomfortable.

As it was, I was perfectly happy on my crutches, and I decided

to let the matter rest until somebody else raised the issue. 



	Although I was content, as I have said, to use a pair of

crutches, I was less happy with the pair I actually had. In

hospital I had considered them clumsy, and familiarity hadn't

made them any less so. Not only that, but the pair Fenella had

loaned me were rapidly becoming my favourites, and I didn't want

to return to the clumsy wooden ones, as well as wanting to try a

pair of elbow-crutches...so far I'd only used axillas. 



	Fortunately, Alex and Fenella had told me where I could buy the

kind of crutches I wanted. 



	I dialled the number and when it answered I asked if they could

supply crutches. They did, so I'd got the right place. They told

me that an appointment wasn't neccessary, so I decided to go

straight over. It was some distance away, so feeling guilty of

trespassing on her good nature, I asked Sarah if she'd take me

over. 



	Saying she'd nothing better to do, she agreed happily, and soon

we pulled up in front of a low building. I climbed out while

Sarah held my crutches for me, and went over to the entrance,

which was fitted with a magic-eye door. Only natural for a

company which dealt with people with missing legs or other

infirmities, I supposed, but it gave me a feeling of reassurance

to find such attention to detail. 



	Inside, with Sarah following behind, I went over to the

reception-desk. 



	"Can I help you?" asked a motherly woman behind it. 



	"Yes, I'd like to buy some crutches please." 



	"Fine. Just take a seat, would you, and perhaps you'd like to

read these." she replied, handing me a couple of small

pamphlets. Sarah and I went over and sat down. 



	I picked up the pamphlet I had been given, and looked at it.

The title announced it as 'Artificial Limbs - A Guide'. I

supposed that even though I'd asked specifically for crutches,

they were doing just as Alex had said, and had assumed that I

was there to be fitted with one. 



	I think that even if that had been my intention, I would have

cancelled it then and there! That booklet was full of

photographs of elderly people who seemed to be gritting their

teeth as they attempted to look at ease with a clumsy,

complicated and mediaeval-looking piece of machinery which would

never make any more than a crude substitute for the amputated

limb. 



	Almost on the spot I swore that I'd never subject myself to

such treatment. My stump is soft and tender, and quite

comfortable under my skirt, where I can feel it rubbing and

bumping against my thigh as I crutch about. 



	After a while a girl dressed in nurses whites came through a

door and pushing a wheelchair, walked over to me. "Miss Jarvis?

Would you like to sit in the chair please?" 



	"I can manage quite easily." I replied, picking up my crutches

and standing. 



	"I'm sure you can. But it's easier for us, so would you sit in

it, please?" 



	I'd run into this before, at the hospital, so with no more

argument, I sat down, holding my crutches against my shoulder as

I was wheeled through the doors and into a large room that

looked like a cross between a gymnasium and a casualty

department. 



	"Now, Miss Jarvis. What can we do for you?" said a round,

avuncular man who was also dressed in whites, but who sat in a

swivelling chair, beside the desk. 



	"I'm told that you can supply crutches which are less

cumbersome than these." I replied, tapping the shafts as I

spoke. 



	"Indeed we can!" he boomed, adding less boisterously, "That is,

if you want. I'd expected you to ask me to make a pretty leg for

you.  " 



	Here we go again! I thought, answering, "No, I'm quite happy

with the one I have, and I'd like some pretty crutches, please." 



	"If you insist." He wrote a few words in the file in front of

him, then looked up and regarded me. "You're sure you're making

the right decision?" 



	"Look." I said, "I've been told that you have a habit of trying

to sell people artificial legs. I've also been told that you

make very good crutches. Let's get it straight, once and for

all. I don't want an artificial leg; I do want crutches. Please

can we talk about that." 



	"Fine. 'No prosthesis desired'" he said as he wrote that down. 



	Oddly enough, he didn't seem at all put out by my outburst. 



	"Well! Better measure you up, then hadn't we?" he said, and

wheeled me over to a piece of equipment which stood against one

wall. He directed me to take my shoe off then to stand with my

back against it, made his measurements, and had me get back in

the chair. 



	"I see that you wear a high heel." he said, referring to the

four inch heel I had chosen. I'd picked it because I didn't

think that many of their clients would wear such a high one, and

doing so would make it very clear that I was putting my leg on

show, and that I certainly wasn't ashamed that I had only one

leg to display. 



	He continued, "You couldn't with a prosthesis, which is, I

admit, a valid reason to prefer crutches, but if you're going to

use crutches," he explained, "it's very important for them to be

the right fit. Crutch-walking is not, as you must know, the most

natural movement, so any irregularities can cause serious

problems. Now, what type would you like?" he said, passin over a

loose-leaf folder. 



	I had no idea there were so many different styles of crutches!

There were nearly a dozen, with several having two or three

variations. Not only that, but all could be made either

adjustable or fixed-height, and in eight different wooden

finishes or three metal. 



	With Mr Rutger's help I selected four pairs. For convenience I

bought a pair of aluminum elbow-crutches, adjustable so that I

could use them with any height of heel. I ordered a pair of

non-adjustable alloy axilla-crutches for smart, enamelled white

so that I could wear them with any outfit. 



	At my evident interest in how my purchases would accord with my

clothes, Mr Rutger became positively enthusiastic, and

recommended a matching pair of rosewood elbow- and

axilla-crutches with fittings in red morocco-leather and satin

brass. Both pairs were adjustable, but invisibly...it was done

by adding or subtracting little threaded cylinders on the end. 



	The final total was horrible, but I knew that crutches were my

most important possessions...without them I was genuinely

crippled by my amputated leg, and couldn't even fend for myself.

With them, my lameness was simply a feature. 



	My super-smart and ultra-light white alloy crutches would be

ready in a week, I was told, but the other pairs would be ready

as soon as the handgrips could be fitted to the rosewood

axilla-crutches. Mr Rutger took the aluminum elbow-crutches from

stock, handed them to me, and I spent the intervening time

trying them out under his eye. 



	As I had suspected, they were a vast improvement on my

'hospital-crutches', much lighter and less cumbersome. Mr Rutger

didn't like my style, though, and gave me some instruction. He

said I was treating them like axilla-crutches, keeping them

almost vertical, which meant that my eldows stuck out rather

inelegantly when I lifted them. 



	He told me that I should lift the tips of the crutches by

bending my elbows, and when I tried it, I found it much more

comfortable. I moved more smoothly, too, and soon found that I

could achieve a lovely gliding motion which was surprisingly

speedy, and proved that my one leg and crutches needn't slow me

down in the slightest. 



	I certainly felt very pleased with myself as I was wheeled out

to where Sarah sat, holding the aluminum elbow-crutches with the

other three pairs being carried by a porter. 



	"Sorry to keep you waiting!" I smiled. 



	"No problem. You ready to go?" 



	"I think so...there's another pair, but they'll take a week." I

replied. 



	The man leaned the three pairs against the wall and went off

and I stood up, slipping my arms into my new crutches. The nurse

pushed the wheelchair into a corner, and while I swung out to

the car, she and Sarah brought my other three pairs out. 



	Between us we fitted them all in somehow, and drove out into

the street. 



	"Happy now?" asked Sarah. 



	"Don't you think they look better?" I asked in reply. 



	"Much...how many pairs have you got, now?" 



	"Four with us, one more to come." 



	"What are they like?" she queried. 



	"Non-adjustable alloy tube axilla-crutches, painted white." 



	"So you can use them with anything?" she asked, divining my

reasoning. 



	Back at home I spent the rest of the day trying them out with

various outfits, learning how to adjust them for different

heights of heel, but mostly just enjoying the feel of proper

permanent-use crutches, which because they are specially set up

for a particular user, can be more carefully constructed. 



	One of the most satisfying combinations, I found, was a pair of

axilla-crutches and the sexy boot which Fenella had given me. I

particularly liked the contradictory feelings it gave me, as

though my leg were in some way protected by the soft leather,

yet was made more vulnerable by being perched on such a high

heel. 



	The best part, however, was the firm yet gentle grip around my

thigh and the sensation of cool slickness whenever my stump

touched the shiny leather. This was just how I'd imagined it

would be, and though I now knew that life with one leg wasn't

all fun and games, I was delighted to find that it could  be at

times! 



	Spurred on by this revelation, I searched for clothing I could

assemble into a complete outfit. The best find was a real french

basque which an old boyfriend had once given me as a joke...I'd

worn it once or twice, to please him, and had quite enjoyed it,

but after we broke up when he moved away, I'd forgotten it. 



	As I've mentioned, I have a good figure, but when I looked at

the result in the mirror, even I was surprised! I'd pulled the

laces as tight as possible, which had reduced my waist to about

twenty inches, so my thirty-nine inch bust and thirty-six inch

hips now looked really spectacularly female, and complemented

the equally-feminine curves of my single leg, emphasised and

adorned by my sheerest hip-length black stocking! 



	Only my best and most expensive evening-gown would provide a

suitable covering for such undergarments, I decided, and swung

to the closet to fetch it, taking a wide jewelled belt at the

same time, which would draw in the waist to my corseted

dimensions. 



	Back in front of the mirror, I considered the result. I'd never

seen myself so dressed up...in fact, I'd never seen anything

like it in my life! The only possible description was that I

looked like a film-star at a premiere...but whoever's seen a

film-star with one leg and a pair of crutches? However, I didn't

really care...I was happy to have proved that I could be as

glamorous as ever, and that if anyone ever wanted a film-star

with a leg amputated, I'd be available! And, if by dressing my

one-leggedness sexily I could also attract men to me, then I'd

be the sexiest one-legger ever. 



	Just then I realised that though I was just as conscious of

having lost my leg as I ever was, for the first time I wasn't

feeling even minimally embarrassed about it! Heaven only knows

why, because I'd deliberately accentuated my amputation before,

and though I'd learned not to regard my having only one leg as

in any way 'wrong', just rather interestingly different, I had

continued to feel slightly apologetic. 



	In fact, I decided, not only did I not feel embarrassment, but

I was suddenly filled with real pride...at being lucky enough to

be so much sexier than other women, who could never achieve the

effect that I could, thanks to my one-leggedness! 



	It was a few days later that Fenella called me. 



	"How are you getting on?" she asked. 



	"Oh, pretty well! I've altered my wardrobe, and now I'm

teaching myself to use one crutch, instead of two." 



	"Good idea. Have you been out much?" 



	"No." I replied, "I've been a bit busy." Actually, now that I

was ready, I found myself shying away from the prospect. I think

Fenella must have guessed. 



	"How about a night out? Alex will introduce you to a friend of

his...a lovely man, who's just right for you...he's been an avid

admirer of mine ever since we met, and he's quite open about the

reason...he just loves girls with one leg! Anyway, I've promised

him you'll come. But I warn you, I'm going to wear something

that makes me look very one-legged!" 



	I couldn't refuse, after being put on the spot, so I agreed,

and she said they'd come round at about seven. 



	Perhaps because this was the first time I was going on an date

since the amputation, and particularly since it would be with a

man whom I'd been told would be attracted to me because of it,

but I was acutely conscious of being one-legged as I prepared

for the occasion, and began with a long bath after which I paid

particular attention to my leg. Happily I don't have much hair,

so I don't have to shave, but I spent ages creaming it until I

was satisfied that it was as smooth as possible. 



	I spent a pleasant hour doing much the same for my stump, which

I was pleased to see was maturing rapidly. The scar which ran

around the back had never been obtrusive, was now beginning to

fade, and as a result of my decision not to wear an artificial

leg, which relieved me of the chore of stump-bandaging, the

short remnant of my left leg was starting to soften so that the

final shape would eventually be a perfect cylinder with a

spherical tip. Stroking it gently, I looked forward to the day,

reflected that its' loveliness would become my most valuable

asset in many ways...a forbidden secret and an object of

fascination to many, but its' caresses a boon granted only to a

discerning few. 



	Breaking out of my reverie, I washed my hair and set it, did a

careful manicure of my five toenails and ten fingernails, put on

a face-pack and even plucked my eye-brows before I felt

complete, but eventually I was finished, and after emerging I

began to think about how I should dress myself.  



	Undies came first...panties, a bra and suspender-belt, as

always, then with a shiver of pure delight I drew the black

hip-length stocking up my long slender leg and clipped it to the

suspender-tabs. I looked at the sleek tapering column of my

thigh, its' firm roundness now accentuated by the clinging

darkness embroidered with an ornate and very sexy lace pattern,

and at the astonishing emptiness left by the amputation, which

was emphasised by the fall of my satin dressing-gown, opening to

reveal my single leg, and draping itself around the soft bulge

of my leg-stump. 



	An inexplicable but deep sense of satisfaction ran through me

as I looked at myself, knowing that though I might shock some

people, I could and would derive endless enjoyment from the

attention I expected to draw by wearing such clothing, precisely

because it made my leg more obviously alone. 



	I spent most of the rest of the afternoon trying on various

outfits before making my choice, finally deciding on a

dark-brown low-necked skinny-rib sweater which showed my figure

to advantage without being too blatant, adorned with a gold

neck-chain and a brooch, with a neat camel-coloured wrap-over

skirt. 



	The only remaining details were a handbag and a smart

high-heeled shoe, and of course, some crutches. I tried several

pairs, assessing the effect of each before I decided that elbow

crutches looked best, and having chosen them and checked the

effect in the mirror, I went into the living-room to wait. 



	It wasn't long before I heard the car pull up, so I collected

myself together and hurried out. Then I learned Fenella's

opinion of which style she considered to make the most of  her

own one-leggedness. 



	I couldn't have guessed in a million years, literally. Get

this...a man's suit! In dark blue pinstriped worsted,

beautifully cut and tailored to her figure, and with the

unneeded leg replaced by a sharply-creased pocket. The outfit

was completed by a pink shirt, red tie and brown snap-brim felt

fedora. On her leg she wore a sheer black stocking and a smart

black high-heeled court-shoe, and she used her ebony axilla

crutches. 



	"Waal, kid. Whaddya t'ink?" she drawled in a very bad imitation

of Bogie. 



	"That's the most outrageous thing I've EVER seen!" I said,

passing my crutches to Alex, and getting into the car. 



	She climbed back in herself, laid her sticks beside her, and

pulled the door shut. "I know. That's what I thought, too.

Actually, I didn't really have any ideas, but I guessed you'd go

for all-woman, so it figured to do the opposite!" 



	"That's an amazing outfit...d'you mind if I copy the style?" 



	"'course not...it isn't my idea, anyway." 



	"The one-legged version must be, though!" I laughed. 



	"You're probably right there, I will admit. I decided this

would be a good occasion to wear it" 



	Being typically provocative, Fenella 'crossed' her stump over

her thigh, then started gently stroking the rounded end with one

hand, taking advantage of the way her masculine attire so

candidly displayed the blunt softness. 



	After a moment or two she noticed me looking, smiled

conspiratorially, then leaned over and whispered, "Useful trick,

this...see the effect?" 



	I nodded in answer and wondered whether I should copy her

example, but decided that it wouldn't look the same in skirts. I

wanted to do something, however, so instead, I tried moving so

that the split in my skirt parted to reveal a little thigh, and

then gradually parted until almost the entire slender length of

my leg was displayed. This was just as good, and I knew that

many eyes would stare at its' solitary sleekness. 



	As we drove, Alex explained that his friend Philip was to meet

us at the restaurant, and that evening began the rebirth of my

social life. 



	I was very quiet in the car, wondering how my blind date would

go. After some miles Fenella broke the silence. "Feeling a bit

shy?" she asked gently. 



	"Well, yes. A bit" I admitted. 



	"You needn't be. I was too, at first, but I soon realised that

being one-legged was my best asset, not something to be ashamed

of!" 



	"Well, I can't say I'm all that proud of it." I retorted. 



	"Pshaw!" snorted Fenella, "I am. Why shouldn't you be?" 



	"What's to be proud of?" 



	"The fact that having one leg makes me more noticeable, and

that I am attractive to men because of it! Not only that, but

I'm proud that I look good on crutches. Not everybody does, you

know." she paused, then went on, "Now remember, whatever you

feel tonight, that you aren't the only one-legger in the room." 



	"I'll try." I replied "but I feel almost as though I were doing

something wicked, going out like this!" 



	"Hey! What's wicked about the two best-looking one-leggers in

the county going out for the evening?" 



	"Yeah! You're right...we're two ravishing amputee-ladies, and

we're going to have fun!" 



	"That's ma girl!" Alex laughed. 



	After a few miles we pulled up at what appeared, in the

darkness, to be a large pile of scrap-lumber, almost completely

covered with neon-signs which flashed at seemingly random

intervals, and which said, as far as could be discerned, "LIVE

BEER", "REAL MUSIC", and possibly "CHAR-COLA HAMBURGERS", but

may not have done. From inside came the sounds of what might

have been a war, but then the door opened and three people fell

out, all laughing like hyenas, which rather cancelled the

suspicion. 



	"Here we are," announced Fenella. "Bernard's, otherwise known

as Dirty Bernie's. The best steaks in town, good music and nice

people. And nice wide doors, which make it easy for us

crutchers." 



	Suppressing the butterflies I felt, I swung my leg out of the

door, adjusted my crutches, and followed Fenella to the

entrance, picking my way carefully round the trio who still lay

giggling on the ground. 



	Once inside Fenella led the way to a table overlooking the

dance-floor, on the other side of which was a small R & B band,

thumping out some Willie Nelson tune. "Okay here?" she asked. 



	We sat down, and then I wondered what she would to do with her

axilla-crutches. They were too long to fit under the seat, and

anyway she wouldn't want to scratch the finish, but she

evidently had encountered the problem before, and hung them on

the pegs which stuck out of the pillars at the end of each

bench. "Makes 'em more visible, too!" she said, as she did so. 



	I began to get the idea...she was making her one-leggedness

obvious even when hidden by the table, by displaying the

associated equipment. I tried to achieve the same effect by

standing my elbow-crutches against the end of the table at the

dance-floor end. A waiter came and we ordered drinks, but before

they had arrived I was surprised by a voice in my ear which

mused, "Now how can I get to know you? I mean, the acceptable

way would be to ask you for a dance, but that might be a little

tactless." 



	"Oh, hello, Philip!" said Fenella, offering her cheek for a

kiss, "We were just wondering where you were. This is Julia."

she added. 



	I'm glad to say that he was all that Fenella had promised,

totally fixated by my one-leggedness, and totally gorgeous as

well - he's become a very special friend. 



	He's quite tall, about six feet, dark and lean, and as soon as

I saw him I knew I wanted his masculinity deep inside my body.

For the first time since losing my leg, I needed a man, but even

though it was my intention to seduce him unless he set the pace,

in which case I would surrender (but not too willingly), I

didn't propose to let him have me without some effort. 



	"Philip Buchanan." he said, standing up, moving around the

partition and sitting down beside me in what seemed to be a

single motion. "late of some rotten little pantomime, currently

bereft of gainful employ, but full of optimism and bright hopes.

An actor by trade." 



	"Are you by any chance a Shakespearean actor?" I asked, amused

at his deliberately archaic phrasing. 



	"Until I found what some people can find to do to Lear, yes.

That was the aforementioned panto. Set in the Bowery, would you

believe? With Lear as a leader of a gang of petty-thieves, yet!" 



	"I'm no expert," I said, "but it sounds awful!" 



	"That's what I thought, and said, but I was assured that it

makes it terribly relevant, and when I persisted, they explained

the function of doors to me; thus it is that I am Out and they

are In!" 



	The drinks arrived, and Philip grabbed his thirstily. "Cheers!"

he said, taking a long draught. Fenella and I sipped more

delicately at ours, partly because it gave us a chance to do

some eye-talk, me signalling "What now?" and Fenella replying,

"Go get him if you want him!" 



	We ate, Phil joining us in a salad since he had previously

eaten, he said, whilst he amused me with stories about some of

the characters he had met in the theatre, making us laugh

uproariously. Afterwards, Fenella and I went off to the Ladies,

and I took the chance to get a word with her. 



	"Well, what do I do now?" I asked 



	"Phil, you mean?" replied Fenella, "He hasn't made a move yet,

has he?" 



	"Nary a sign." 



	"Why not give him a little stump-play?" 



	"Whazzat?" 



	"He's sitting on your stump-side, isn't he? So give him a

couple of gentle nudges. If he doesn't react to that, he must be

dead, and I don't think he is, somehow! I think he's wondering

what to do, so you'll have to lead him on a bit." 



	When we returned to the table I decided that I ought to follow

Fenella's advice...perhaps I could sort of 'accidentally' brush

his thigh with my stump? 



	At a suitable moment I managed to arrange it by swivelling

round to look past him at something he pointed out, and for a

moment my little stump pressed against his thigh. He didn't

react immediately, but after a moment his arm crept around my

shoulders. I surrendered with pleasure, leaning back against

him, but that made me uncomfortable, so I slid along the seat to

get closer. In that position my stump was wedged tightly between

his muscular thigh and my own single leg, and it soon became

apparent that he was well aware of this. I was startled at first

when I felt his hand lay itself gently on the soft roundness,

and jumped slightly, but his arm around me felt so secure...not

only that, but I began to feel myself melting as his stong

fingers curled around the tender bluntness which kept my leg

company under my skirt. 



	Now I began to see why Fenella said that being one-legged had

secret compensations. The mere caress of his hand on my stump

was arousing me faster than ever before! I decided at that

moment that everything Fenella had told me so far had been quite

correct, and I vowed to myself that I would try to become like

Fenella, and no matter how uncomfortable or awkward I might feel

with my ever-present crutches and gaping absence instead of a

leg, as far as anyone would ever know, I would be quite

unconcerned at having just one leg. 



	It was easier with Philip, knowing that he accepted and enjoyed

my one-leggedness. He had made it quite evident, by asking if he

could have a look at my leg. Surprised at his forwardness, but

feeling that modesty was ill-placed under the circumstances, I

lifted my skirt to show him the beautiful leg of which I was now

so proud, and its' delicate partner neatly turned out in a

short-cut stocking. 



	"Like what you see?" I asked, naughtily, as I let my skirt fall

back again, checking that the left side draped itself emptily

over the edge of my seat. 



	"It's a beautiful leg." he replied, drawing me to him and

kissing me. 



	I pressed the warm softness of my stump against my thigh,

rubbing it up and down a little. 



	"Why do you keep moving your stump like that?" he asked,

looking down. 



	"So that I can feel more one-legged, silly." I replied, adding,

"I find that it enhances the empty gaping sensation, which is

how my one-leggedness feels tonight." 



	I told him why I'd had the amputation, his interest flaring

into desire when I said him that I much preferred being

one-legged, and I knew that I had him in the palm of my hand. 



	From what Alex and Fenella had told me, I knew that Philip

would be turned on by hearing me talk about my one-leggedness,

so when a break came in the conversation, I said, "When I was

little I always wanted to be an actress, but losing my leg

rather put paid to that! They don't write plays about one-legged

girls!" 



	"No, more's the pity!" answered Philip, with a twinkle in his

eye. He knew what I was on about, I felt sure! I was just

composing my next gambit when he continued, "But there's been

quite a few one-legged actresses, you know." 



	"Have there?" I asked, "I didn't know." 



	"Oh, yes! Dodie Fields lost her leg shortly before she died,

but even so, I think she appeared at least once. Then there was

Suzanne Ball in the early Fifties, who played an Indian princess

in a Western after she lost her leg, and of course the Divine

Sarah lost her leg late in her career, but that didn't stop her

from doing recitals for several more years." 



	"You mean Sarah Bernhardt?" asked Fenella, surprised. 



	"The same." 



	"Yes, but presumably they were all established actresses before

becoming one-legged...I mean, you can't be suggesting that a

girl could lose a leg and THEN become an actress, surely?" 



	"Well, no, not really, but then again, there are the occasional

pieces which have one-legged girls in. Unfortunately, they

always seem to use makeup and wardrobe instead of the real

thing. For example, there was the Bunuel film, Tristana, but in

that Catherine Deneuve, who has two perfectly good legs, was

made up to look one-legged, and anyway there was very little

that was more than subtle suggestion. She never really had to do

more than use a pair of crutches occasionally." 



	"Do you think it would have made a better film if the girl had

been played by a real one-legged girl?" 



	"No, not really. Bunuel was concerned with the relationship,

rather than the actual stresses on it. Any similar problem would

have served, I feel. Of course, there's never been a film

actually about a one-legged girl, per se!" 



	Soon we decide to leave, wanting a little more privacy, so we

went back to Alex and Fenella's house, Philip driving me in his

utterly disreputable old Ford which actually looked a lot worse

than it looked.