The last three years since finishing a Masters in Math, I've been teaching at a small college. Other than that, my life is lonely. I don't wish it to be. It is. Not many women fit my fantasy.
It is all I can do to contain my emotions when she walks into my second year math class. I know I will be a wreck. "I'm Amy Glass," she says as she hands me the admission slip. My mouth must have gaped open, or perhaps drool sliding from its corner that catches her attention as she leans back slightly on her long aluminum crutches and points with one finger at my face.
"Sorry," I whisper, wiping at my face. "That desk is free." I point at one in the front row.
"Perfect. I think 'we'll' enjoy having me in front." She giggles and takes the seat, the single leg extending from the knee-length skirt and the brown loafer resting on the floor, the ankle bare and nicely turned with a small anklet.
The classroom is still empty, another few minutes before everyone runs in at the last moment. I rest my hips on the edge of a desk and fold my arms in front of my chest. My palm rubs my chin as I stare.
"It's new. This summer."
"Oh? You seem to be doing well."
"Thanks, I don't mind."
Before either of us can say more, the students storm into the room. I begin the class, struggling to focus on the topic of the day. I fail.
-
"Mr. Adams," Amy says, standing in front of me as the others leave the room.
I look up and close my notebook. "Yes."
"I'm happy you're my teacher. Could I come early in the morning to have help on the first two weeks of class that I've missed?"
She is close and her hand touches my forearm, maybe by mistake. I hope not. Her fingers still rest on it. Not a mistake I realize. The white blouse gives me little information about her body. I look anyway.
"I'd be happy to help. I'll be in my office."
"Cool. I'll be there."
The touch lingers and the smile on her face is captivating. She squeezes my arm then walks away, the shoe sweetly swinging between the crutch tips with each step. Alternating sounds of the leather sole sliding against the floor followed by taps of the tips fill my ears. My gaze follows until there is no more to see.
-
My apartment is quiet - I live with no one and have no pets - as I pace around barefooted after finishing dinner and doing the dishes. My mind races with thoughts of Amy. Was she coming on to me? What would I do if she were? She was beautiful - the long curly brown hair, the blue eyes. God, that missing leg, how much is gone?
The erection demands something and I rub a hand over it several times. "Fuck," I whisper aloud sitting at the laptop and going to some of my favorite websites, the ones with pictures of amputee women. I stare until my vision blurs. I don't need to look. I have them all memorized. I look anyway.
Naked in bed, I jack off until there is no more and I'm sore. Cum covers my chest, my stomach, and my hands as I drift off to sleep.
-
"Is this a good time?" Amy asks from the doorway.
"Ah, any time with you...." I catch myself, but I have already said too much. I grin. "Sure." I point at a chair beside my desk on the side away from the door and wait for her to sit.
"Thank you for taking time." She reaches over and touches my arm again. "I like you."
I clear my throat, but no words come out. I just stare for a moment.
"Could I ask a question? If it's too personal, let me know." I nod. "Do you find it, ah, interesting that I have one leg? I've noticed you looking." She slides the hem of the skirt up slowly until a few inches of stump are showing. "You like that?" She smiles and leaves it showing.
"We, ah, I could get in a lot of trouble." I rip my gaze away from her stump and check the open door - no one there. Eagerly I look back at her.
"I won't tell." She leaves the skirt hiked. Unconsciously I drag my tongue over my parched lips. "Mr. Adams...."
I clear my throat. "Yes?"
"I believe you're lusting." She snickers. "My dad does that too." She giggles.
"Are you just teasing me?"
"Hardly. I know some men like women with one leg, like my dad, and I believe you fall into that group. Do you?"
My eyes drift down and linger on the beautiful rounded shape with a scar just above the surface of the chair from one side of the stump to the other.
"I'm goin' to hell for sure," I mutter under my breath as I look at my watch then back at her.
"Just for looking?" She laughs. "Listen, he and I just moved to town. We don't know anyone yet. Maybe you'd like to have dinner with us. You and your wife...."
"I live alone. What about your mother?"
"She ran off with her girlfriend. You and he would like to compare notes, picture collections ... you know, of amputee women. I'm sure you and I could get better acquainted there than here." She gives me a devilish grin and touches my arm again.
"I'd like that."
-
They live on the edge of town on a large parcel of land, maybe twenty acres and all wooded. She had mentioned the orange mailbox in her directions and I am glad, otherwise I would have driven past the rutted drive and been halfway to the county line. My old Honda Civic bounces along the drive scraping the high grassy ridge down the middle with dust blowing behind.
"Mr. Adams," the tall lanky man says. He wears bib overalls with a white tee shirt underneath, long salt and pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail, sandals on his bare feet.
"Call me Sam." I shake his hand.
"Jake." He looks at me for a moment. "Amy's told me good things about you."
I follow him inside the small farmhouse "She's a wonderful girl. You're lucky."
"That I am. That I am." He points at a large overstuffed chair. "Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink, a beer, some whiskey?"
"Yeah." I laugh. "Maybe a whiskey."
"Good, I like that. I think we'll get along just fine." He slaps me kindly on the upper arm.
"Hey Mr. Adams," Amy shrieks, as she quickly crutches across the room and sits in my lap, the crutches clattering together onto the floor. She's wearing only a long tee shirt and some black panties peek from under along with the short stump of her left leg.
"His name is Sam," he tells her.
She rubs her hips over my lap and places her hands on each side of my face as she kisses me deeper than I expect. "I'm so-o glad you come over."
I take the glass and sip. "This sure hits the spot," I tell him.
"Let me." She pulls the glass from my hand and takes a bigger sip than I did then gives it back.
"Don't go gettin' drunk, you hear."