Marci quizzes, 'Stilettos or pumps'. A black running shoe dangles from two fingers. She had always preferred stilettos because of the way they highlighted the shape of her legs. Even the shorter heel of a pump had been nice, and not hurt her feet as much. Since the amputation, just about anything without heels felt better and offered more stability on one leg.
She carries the left pump back to the overstuffed chair by the bed to sit and put it on. The stockinged leg and foot extend so she can admire it. "Yes," she says aloud, standing and adjusting the crutches under her arms. The reflection in the tall dressing mirror is now more familiar - the new normal. She twists and turns examining the woman with one leg from every angle. Most of the one leg is nicely visible, the other side of the dress with nothing extending beneath.
Her brother and his wife had asked her to visit and spend time relaxing by the pool while she recovered. Men had lusted over her shapely legs. She thinks about how the plural sound was now lost forever and possibly along with men. Kevin sure was gone in a heartbeat. Would there be others?
She lifts the hem of the dress gradually until the rounded shape of the legless hip reveals itself next to the fabric patch of the black thong. She had tried and given up on other styles of panties because there wasn't enough 'hip' to fill the elastic of the leg hole. Two fingers drag over the front of the thong, pressing into the opening beneath, rubbing hard until a soft moan flows from her mouth.
The scars, no longer angry red lines, have begun to fade into pale ones. The initial pain is gone too. She rubs a palm over the hip, front to back with no thigh in the way. She rubs back in the other direction enjoying the 'new hip', the way it feels, and the way it looks.
-
Jeff had been in town for a week - new job, a new life. The motel room at the Sands was a hundred a week. There was no beach, no sand, anywhere near. He wondered how motels got names that had no relationship to the location. The walls were paper-thin and the nightly entertainment consisted of a headboard in the neighboring room rhythmically banging the wall with sounds of 'oh baby, oh baby' from a prostitute and her line of customers. He had seen her a few times, not a looker, and he had never been tempted to be a patron.
Each day he would spend five hours at work and the rest of the day looking for a place to live. At the low-rent diner a block from the motel while having breakfast, he would circle rental ads. Now he had seen all the ones close to the office.
Elmhurst is a large town, mostly flat with a range of rolling hills to the east. Roads from there into town are reasonable and he considers exploring housing possibilities in that area. The ads are few and usually out of his price range.
"Lookin' for a place?" the waitress asks, still holding the coffee pot after refilling his cup.
He looks up at the chubby older woman in a pale-green waitress uniform. "Yeah. I've just about exhausted the stuff near work. Maybe I'll look up in the hills."
"That's just rich folk, wouldn't want to discourage you though." She laughs and leaves.
He circles a few more ads then goes to work. At least there is a lot of eye candy there, something unusual and unexpected. Two women look like they stepped off a page of a Victoria Secrets catalog - tall and willowy with wonderful legs and high-heel shoes. Lois likes to wear skirts exposing half her thighs or more. When she bends over, the rounded cheeks of her ass threaten to peek out. He dreams of her each night, too bad she wears a wedding ring. The lucky bastard had better appreciate her.
Julie, prettier than Lois if that is possible, loves wearing stockings. The other day she wore a black pair with a line up the back. When she sat with her legs crossed, he could see they were thigh-high with a dark band of lace at the top. He found it more than exciting. Maybe she was only teasing and taunting him, after all she wore an engagement ring. Another lucky bastard had won.
"Morning," Julie coos, her voice more suggestive than normal.
After a moment of fantasy that she is whispering that in his bed, he smiles. "Always nice to see you." He studies her legs finding taupe stockings and black stilettos. His mouth gapes open.
"Too much?" She responds in a teasing way, leaving a big smile across her wonderful lips. She snickers. "Having lunch with my soon to be hubby."
"Lucky him."
"Now, why would you say that?" She strikes a pose that highlights most every feature, fingers combing though her long blond hair.
"Just remember me in case something happens."
"Why Jeff, I didn't know you were interested."
"So...." He clears his throat. "I'm expanding my search area for a place to live. Do you know anything about the stuff up in the hills?"
"Cool views and big homes. Some have guest houses." She grabs the newspaper with circled ads and scans. "Here's one. One bedroom, one bath, small kitchen, near pool area." She chuckles. "Maybe the wife's lonely." She chuckles again, drops the paper, and walks away with a swish of glorious hips encased in a tight tan skirt.
He watches, letting the images become forever etched in his mind, thinking about how nice it would be have those legs wrapped around his waist for hours each night. 'What would that feel like?' he puzzles, almost aloud.
"Yeah, I agree." Maggie pats his shoulder. "Lust in the heart." She laughs.
Maggie has a butch look - short brown hair, thick and muscled everywhere, wearing black slacks and a man's white dress shirt.
"Can't help looking," he mumbles.
"Got that right. If she'd trade teams.... If only." She chuckles then walks away.
"How's the hunt?" Jeff's boss asks moments later. "I need you to start working full time next week."
"Yeah, and I need a place to live. Closing in on something soon, I hope. There's a hooker next door at the motel. Do you know what that's like?" Jeff groans.
"Maybe you should...."
"Nah. She's not good looking at all."
-
Jeff leans against the car looking at the large villa styled house, probably five or six thousand square feet, probably just for two people. How do people afford homes like that without robbing banks? The grounds are manicured without a blade of grass out of place or longer than any other is. He looks around finding most of the homes similar, some larger. The view towards the town is spectacular with a slight breeze blowing though his hair.
He had called, but no one answered. The knock on the door goes unanswered as well. He walks around the side of the house and through the opened gate. A brick paved walkway leads past a hedge to a guesthouse. An opening in a hedge reveals the large pool with crystal-clear water. Several deck chairs line the edges.
A lovely, and naked, woman walks from the pool to one of the chairs without seeing him. Nothing escapes his lips trying to announce his presence. Dewdrops of water linger on her tanned skin as she sits, legs spread slightly enough to expose all that waits between. Her head leans back, eyes closed, as one hand cups a handful of breast and fingers of the other stroll between the thighs.
He watches, listening to the chorus of moans that begin. His pants bulge and there is no attempt to not look at her. What is her relationship to the house, he wonders. Though not quite as exciting as Julie or Lois, she is off the scale of lovely.
Her head remains back with eyes closed as she mutters, "fuck me-e, fuck me-e," repeatedly.
He nearly trips, bumping the hedge enough to make noise. Startled, she opens her eyes and stops the pleasuring. When she stands, she slips a nearly transparent shier garment on. Why, he doesn't know since it hides nothing he has not already seen.
She steps closer. "May I help you?"
Though he has a hundred answers to the question that may be different than she expects, he simply says, "I saw the ad for the guesthouse."
"Probably not all you 'saw'." She chuckles, not giving any hint of being embarrassed about him watching her activity. "It's a nice day, too nice to not swim naked."
"Yes, wonderful...."
"Call me Carla. Let me show you the rental." She wags a finger over her shoulder, beckoning him to follow. He does. "The last tenant just moved out." She offers what the rent is and how much for deposits. "Is that too much?"
He feasts on her looks and she lets him. "Ah, ah," he stammers a few times, still looking.
She touches the fabric over a nipple, rubbing slightly with a seductive grin. "You can use the pool."
He fantasizes that she removes the garment and unzips his trousers. That they make love by the pool several times each morning after her husband leaves for work.
"No, that's just fine," he finally says.
She opens one of the French doors. He follows inside. "It's furnished. I don't remember if the ad said that."
"Nicer than my furniture. I'll take it."
"Good. I was hoping you would." Her hand slides down his upper arm. "My husband is away on unexpected business tonight. Would you like to join me for dinner? I'd thawed two steaks before he called."
"I'd love too. I'm new in town and haven't met anyone...."
