Bart couldn’t believe his luck as he pulled his postal van into the apartment complex. The driver was female and he was finally going to see her! He was behind a baby blue BMW Z-4 convertible as it waited to pass through the wrought-iron security gate. The top was down and the driver was a very attractive 30-something blonde wearing expensive sunglasses. In the seat next to her was a pair of black forearm crutches. Bart could not see from the perch of his driver’s seat if the woman had two legs; if she was an amputee it would not be nearly as exciting for him. She briefly looked up at Bart through the rear-view mirror. He could see her face in the mirror and noted that she was quite pretty. Below his seatbelt something stirred as the old familiar thrill began to overtake Bart again.
The gate opened and the Beemer moved through. As she pulled ahead he saw the wheelchair logo on her license plate. Bart had seen this car before, parked in front of building ‘D’ inside. In fact, Bart had seen the car many times, but until now, never the driver. He was thrilled at the prospect of seeing this pretty blonde who obviously walked on crutches.
Quickly he considered his options. He couldn’t be obvious. Nonetheless, he was the mailman here making his regular deliveries, so hanging around wasn't really a problem. Bart stopped at the security code pad and punched in the assigned authorization number for deliveries. The gate opened for him and the van lumbered through just as the Beemer turned left toward Building D ahead. There were several open parking spaces directly across from Building 'D.' He made his decision.
“Just stay here for a minute,” he thought. “This one’s too good to ignore.” He pulled the van parallel with the curb several yards away from where the BMW was parking. It was in a designated handicapped space marked ‘D-3.’ Bart turned on the yellow emergency flashers and cut his engine. He pretended to busy himself with some mail as the blonde parked and prepared to get out of the car.
Bart was flushed now, in a state of rapt anticipation. The car door opened and he watched as the woman picked up her crutches and placed the lower halves outside the car. Her left leg came out on its own, a smart business pump with a low heel on the foot. She then placed her hand under the knee of her right leg and lifted it out and onto the pavement. Bart silently gasped as he noted the huge lift on her right shoe. The heel appeared to be six or seven inches taller than that of its mate, and a sturdy round rubber platform was attached to the sole. She pushed up from the little car, slid her arms into the cuffs of the black crutches, and swiveled herself aside sufficiently to close the door.
So far the woman had taken no apparent notice of Bart, to his relief. She began moving toward her apartment with a slow swinging gait. The apparently normal left leg took all her weight. The crippled right leg simply hung with the huge shoe making ground contact only at the front edge of its sole. The foot pointed down and dragged slightly as she lifted herself progressively through the crutches toward the building. Bart’s manhood was now at full mast, straining against his trousers.
“I’ve got to meet her,” he thought to himself.
In another moment she was too far into the entryway of the complex to be seen any more. But he had witnessed enough… Bart was resolved to make it a point to see the woman again. The 35-year war between Bart’s decency and his deviant sexuality began a fresh battle. He loathed himself for being so turned on by the sight of a crippled woman. Oh, the many times he had succumbed to his desire to observe such women in malls and on the street. As a youngster Bart saw polio victims in public regularly, but he rarely encoountered anyone anymore. This beauty on crutches was truly an awesome sight.
As the day wore on Bart couldn’t get the blonde out of his mind. A simple plan took form and Bart began to anticipate the next day with relish.
Bart worked the following afternoon at a pace that would allow him to get to the woman's apartment complex a little later. He wanted to ensure she was there. Upon pulling in he noted with satisfaction that the blue Z-4 was indeed in its parking space. Mounting his courage, Bart left his van at the curb and carried the large and heavy box of old magazines he had personally packed and mailed for apartment D-3 toward the door. He had made sure there was no identification of the sender on or inside the box, just in case the encounter went badly.
