While cleaning out my purse, what a mess, I found a business card. 'Doris - Just a flash'. Who calls them self 'Doris'? On the left side is a nice pen drawing of a woman showing only from the waist to the tops of the thigh, legs spread wide, and two of her fingers holding the labia open. Nothing too explicit, not much detail, just a delicate erotic drawing. I tried to remember where I'd gotten the card, my mind going into overdrive. Surely I'd remember something like this wouldn't I? Where? 'Ah.' It came to me. The other night in the bar, that nice looking woman giving the guy a hand job while I watched. It was smooth, nice. I'd masturbated a few times that night to the thought of what had happened. Oh I loved Peggy, my current squeeze, she sucking my clit for a while that night, but something about watching another person having sex, any kind of sex, even a woman with a man, was a real turn on for me. Just thinking about that night now is making me drip down my thigh.
The phone number on the card was worn, worn badly. I could barely read it. Damn! Wish whatever that was, hadn't spilled on it. I can almost make it out and dial what I think it might be.
ring, ring, ring ... damn, please answer.
"Hello?"
"Doris?"
"Yes?"
"This is Beth, the woman with one leg from the bar." That would identify me better than anything, though I don't think of myself as a 'one legged' anything. Just a woman who has attributes and interests that happen to include long brown hair, small breasts, tall, having one leg, exposing myself, liking women, and so on.
"Hi sweet thing. I was hoping you'd call. Can I talk you into coming over?
Her voice was pleasant, smooth, a hint of a drawl, slow, quite sensual. The way she pronounced 'coming' was meaningful, intersting, more like 'cuming'.
"Love to. When?"
"Is that darling lady friend of yours coming too?"
"Peggy? No. She's out of town on business for a few nights."
"Damn! She, hell, both of you were sure easy on the eyes. Another time for her. What'cha doing now?"
"Nothing. Well, touching myself ... and listening to your wonderful voice."
"Darling, could eat you allll up." Almost like 'owl'. "Come over now and maybe we could have a little fun."
As I drove down 9th Avenue, my mind raced at the thought of what might happen, what Doris might really be like. Turning left on Sunset, her street, I marveled at the uniformity of all the houses, looking like Victorian Farmhouses, only 2 or 3 different designs, minor variations, alternating color combinations. So glad people are not as uniform, consistent. How boring would that be?
Fourth house on the left she said. There it is. Large wrap around porch. Nice. Really nice. I park in the driveway, way to the left side, directly in front of one door, as she had suggested. Crutches lightly tucked under my armpits, I walk along a short sidewalk to the porch. Before I have a chance to ring the doorbell, the door opens.
"Get that sweet little ass in here before Harry has a coronary."
I looked puzzled as I looked at Doris. Sure enough, not at all like I'd remembered. It was dark in the bar where she sat, maybe I just didn't see her well. Oh she wasn't bad looking, not at all, in fact quite pleasant I must say. Not a raging beauty queen, not into that look anyway. Once I got past the obvious fact she was standing on crutches, a single right leg, a 'fellow amputee' I thought, I noticed she was wearing a man's white long sleeved dress shirt, buttoned only once, not at the top or bottom, only the next to last button from the bottom, sleeves rolled up, maybe twice. Nothing else. Just the shirt. No shoe. Nothing. I could see her cleavage, almost see all of one breast, even a bit of nipple. Not huge breasts, not small, but just nice. Her hair was gray, not old ladies kind of gray, but that salt and pepper that looks dignified on some people, like Doris for example.
"Don't think he will last much longer if you just stand there."
I broke out of my spell. "Who's Harry?" I followed her into the house.
She held the door open and pointed across the street. "He loves to stand on his porch and jerk off while looking at me. Really digs one legged chicks. Was concerned about his ticker with both of us out there."
I followed her finger until I saw a middle aged, maybe older, yes probably much older, couldn't really tell from where I stood, his cock hanging out of his pants, him stroking it for all it was worth. Then, it gushed and blew his wad all over his porch.
"He was the guy at the bar that was so fixated on your stump that night. He was whacking off looking at me when he saw you. Guess he couldn't believe his luck having 2 women like us in view."
She shut the door. "Hot today. Don't want to let all the cold air get away. Sit down and rest your butt."
Doris was a bit coarser than I typically was attracted to, but still sweet. For some reason I was not put off with her. She did at least enjoy showing off for people and I was soooo turned on by her visually. As she walked, I could catch glimpses of her cheeks peaking from behind the tails of the shirt. She bent over once and a whole breast appeared, didn't bother to cover it back up as she stood again. Why? Hell, she was practically naked anyway. She sat next to me on the sofa and plopped her crutches down with a loud thud, bang, the aluminum tubes clanking together as they hit the floor. The breast still hanging out for the whole world to see, well maybe just for me to see. That was all that counted right now.
"Don't remember you having ..."
"... hell ... had that off 2 years ago. Best gift I could've given myself."
"Gift?"
"Sweetie, a gal's gotta do what she's gotta do. Always wanted it like this." She gave her stump under the shirt tail a little slap, then rubbed it as if to sooth the pain from the slap. "Found a doc in Asia, went and had it almost completely off." She pulled the bottom of her shirt to one side. Sure enough, the leg ended just below where her thigh used to start, the part that remained was a wide as the other thigh, blunt, not bad looking, a lot like mine. She left it exposed. "He was a stallion, really hung like a horse. Stud of an American man. He took care of me, I took care of him. God, I could barely get my mouth around that cock of his. Almost didn't come home either."
"How's your husband like it?"
"Oh that guy I was with at the bar? He's not my husband. Hell, I couldn't be with any man very long. They make good toys, but can't live with 'em. He just likes me to give him a hand job in public once in a while. That's ALL he wants."
The doorbell rang.
"Plumber. Damn garbage disposal's on the blink. Go hide in the pantry. It's got a frosted window. You can see lots. I know, hid in there many times and watched friends fucking around."
She gathered up her crutches and walked towards the door while I headed for the kitchen. Had no clue, but I assumed whatever would happen would be good. I shut the pantry door just as she opened the front door. Sure enough, I could see most of the kitchen from around the edges of the frosting.
"Here to fix your garbage ... holy fuck lady!" I guess he finally looked at her in that dress shirt. Wish I could have seen that. Wonder if her boob is still out?
"It's in here. Follow me."
"Anywhere you want! Oh my."
I could just picture her leading him by his prick, like the handle on a kids wagon.
"If you need to finish dressing ..."
"No. This is just fine. I like a little breeze you know."
She leaned against the kitchen counter, across from the pantry door, next to where he needed to be. He kneeled, stealing peeks on his way down, banging his head on the cabinet more than once. I was pretty sure if he stood up quickly, he'd shear his erect cock off at its base. Not a pretty sight I'm sure.
He pushed something on the bottom of the disposal. "Give it a try now."
She flipped the switch and it roared to life, then turned it back off.
"Just had to push a button down here."
"Have another button that needs pushing ... down here." She lingered on the 'down here' making sure he knew exactly what she was talking about, that is unless his light bulb was burned out, not the brightest bulb on the block, if you get my drift.
