I had found my wife's stash of pictures, mostly women missing one or both legs, a few men at the bottom of the pile. I resisted letting her know, instead I spent time searching the net to learn about her fascination. There are hundreds of fictional stories about people wanting to be with amputees, but I stumble upon a few where some actually want a limb amputated.
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It was a gorgeous, sunny day in late July just about a week before my birthday. I had just signed off on an incredible deal that was going to make my company millions and net me a signing bonus big enough to keep me in very expensive shoes for a very long time to come. As I settled into my high back leather chair behind the great mahogany desk that is the centerpiece of my office, I gave a little stretch and yawn and kicked off my four and half inch patent leather pumps.
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Gary hooked his thumb vaguely in the direction of the room that he and Kimberly had converted to a nursery. "Kim's feeding the li'l one," he said. "She'll be out in a few minutes." He often referred to his new baby as "the li'l one." In fact her name was Emily, but at six months, I suppose "the li'l one" is as good a tag as any. Then with his other hand he hooked a thumb toward the hallway that lead to his music studio. "Sheila, I wanted to show you the folio of Bach etudes I just got."
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It all started when our head Cheerleader, Carol, got a mysterious note in the mail. The Turkey River Jr. College Cheerleaders, wanted to make an unusual bet on the football game with Charleston Tech. It sounded like a sure thing that would be exciting, especially since our team had been on a winning streak this year.
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I tugged on the flimsy elastic band at the top of her panties and started to peel them from her body. It was late, and I was tired, but motivation was plentiful. What a night, high school graduation, and what a party! We had spent 3 or 4 hours at a friends place with half of our graduating class, saying sentimental goodbyes and spending a few lingering moments before we all went off to our respective lives.
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I guess it started back during my six years in the forces. Walking past a barbers shop in Turkey, Tom bet me that I would never be able to shave myself using the cut throat razor that the proprietor of the establishment in question wielded so effortlessly.
I told him that I would have it nailed in two weeks and that I would even be able to do it without cutting my face in that time.
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"You just don't get me, Marcus."
The words pierced right through his seemingly frail exterior. This kind of fight had been all too familiar for the last few weeks of their relationship. Kim wanted him to give her more satisfaction in the bedroom but Marcus was too much of a worrywart and relaxed man to give her the kind of action she so desired.
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Nicola King sat in the beer garden of the Dog and Fox nursing a gin and tonic. It was early Friday evening and she had arranged to meet her best friend, Sara Hamilton-Finch, for a quick drink after work. In fact best friend had become somewhat of an understatement recently.
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About six years ago I was in university and living on campus during the summer along with a few other guys, including a guy I roomed with off campus during the school year. Jeff and I were in the same program and we were taking summer classes while working for our department. He and I were fairly big geeks and only occasionally would we do social things like going to the bars to drink and socialize with friends.
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He left me. Because of him I moved to this fucking city, away from my family and friends, away from my comfortable little world. I sit here in my small room, with nothing to comfort me except my cigarettes and bottle of cheap wine. Tomorrow I will feel even worse; lovesickness and headache is a bad mixture. The moon laughs down at me, his ugly yellow mug deriding me. I throw the cork of the bottle at him, but it only bangs against the window-glass.
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