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 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."
"What?"
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?"
