Dr. Lydia Martin’s intercom buzzed. “Yes?” she said, still looking over a file she had begun.
“Your new patient, Mr. Mullins, is here,” said her receptionist and administrator, Barb. “The one referred by Dr. Jefferson.”
Lydia pushed herself up from her desk and stood behind it. “Send him in,” she said, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her glasses.
Momentarily the heavy wooden door to her office opened and Barb, a pretty, petite redhead, held the door for an early-50’s trimly-built male. He entered tentatively. Lydia remained behind her desk, her hand extended in greeting.
“Mr. Mullins, I’m Dr. Martin. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Brad Mullins. I’m glad to meet you,” said the man as he walked to the desk to shake Lydia’s hand. He was in apparent good physical shape and was well dressed in an Izod golf shirt and gray slacks. He wore black slip-on style dress shoes. Lydia liked his sincere brown eyes right away.
“Take a seat, please,” she said, motioning her patient to the chair in front of the desk. At the same time she seated herself once again behind the massive antique cherry wood desk that was her pride and joy. She had designed the office around the desk, having matching bookcases installed to hold the hundreds of tomes related to her profession of psychology. Also matched in wood and color was a tall, two-door armoire behind her. “I understand Dr. Jefferson suggested you see me.”
“Yes, he did.” Brad Mullins seemed nervous. “He said you are an expert on, uh, on…”
“Deviant sexuality,” said Lydia matter-of-factly. “Yes, I’ve been practicing for 12 years and have specialized in that area for 10 of those years. And I understand you have a fairly unusual fetish.”
“I guess I do. I’ve really never been able to talk to anybody about it before. It’s really embarrassing and Dr. Jefferson was the first person I’ve actually admitted it to. So…I guess he explained it to you, right?”
“Yes, and Mr. Mullins, don’t be embarrassed. Sexual attraction in humans is a very complex thing. Be glad that what you are attracted to is not anything that will get you in legal trouble. That’s the good news. But, I do understand that this has caused you great stress. I would like to discuss your abasiophilia with you at length and understand your particular case better. Then we’ll talk about treatment options.”
Mullins appeared curious now. “That’s what it’s called? There’s a name for it?”
Lydia shifted in her chair and watched Brad Mullins’ face carefully. She knew he was petrified to openly talk about the desires he had kept pent up his whole life. He no doubt considered this his ugly “demon,” the thing that he had never discussed with anybody. These situations were always tricky in the beginning because it took time for her patients to become comfortable enough to spill their guts.
“Yes. Abasiophilia. It is an attraction to people who use wheelchairs, braces, crutches, and so-forth. It’s a paraphilia, which just refers to any abnormal sexual desire. Let’s just put it on the table, OK? Basically, you are attracted to disabled women, as I understand it from Dr. Jefferson. Why don’t you relax and tell me all about it. Start from your earliest memories.”
“Wow. Yes…OK. This is tough, especially because you’re a woman. But that may actually make it easier now that I think about it…I really didn’t feel I could tell all this to a man.”
“Good. Why don’t you go over to my couch there and stretch out. Really try to relax and clear your mind. I’m going to ask you to close your eyes from time to time to really focus.”
Brad Mullins moved to the elegant dark red leather couch and lay down.
“Now…start at the beginning. When do you first recall being aware that you had these desires?”
“When I was about 5 years old, I remember going the optician with my mother. She needed new glasses. There was a very pretty lady who worked there and she was crippled. She wore a long leg brace that had white leather bands around her right leg and she walked on crutches. The forearm kind. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes, I do. I know exactly the type you’re referring to. The metal kind with a single upright and arm cuffs below the elbow. Go on.”
“Right. Exactly. And that was the first time I had ever seen those. Well, this woman had polio, I guess. But she walked on those crutches very fast, and she swung herself around the optical shop showing frames to my mother. I thought the white leather on her brace was wonderful and I loved the way she kind of threw her legs a little bit sideways through the crutches as she went. And I remember having an erection right there in the store…the first one I remember…ever. I went up behind her and touched the brace…my mother didn’t see me do it but the lady looked down at me and smiled.”
“She didn’t say anything?” asked Lydia.
“No, because I backed off right away. But she knew I had done it. Wow…I remember that thrill to this day. And I was only five!”
“So what are you attracted to most? Braces?”
“No…actually I think the biggest thing for me is crutches. I really don’t get excited much by women in wheelchairs. It’s the movement of a woman on crutches that gets me more than anything. And…especially if she has one leg shorter than the other one. That will really get me fired up.”
“Is there anything other than disabled women that turns you on?” asked Lydia. “How about feet?”
“Oh my gosh…how did you know?” asked Mullins incredulously.
“Just an educated guess. A great number of men with abasiophilia also have a foot fetish to one degree or another.”
“That would be me. I absolutely love beautiful feet. Not as much as a woman on crutches, but a pretty foot with a nice pedicure is very much on my radar screen.”
“OK. Now, Mr. Mullins…let’s get back to women on crutches. I want you to close your eyes. Don’t open them until I tell you. Think and focus on your most recent experience now. I don’t mean anything you may have seen on the internet…I mean the most recent disabled woman that has really excited you.”
Brad Mullins felt this was a little odd, but he closed his eyes dutifully and began to think.
“It’s been a while. You know, most disabled people today use wheelchairs. Everything is accessible, or just about. You almost never see people on crutches on the street anymore. But, there was one woman about two years ago that nearly sent me over the edge.”
“Tell me about her. In detail. Describe everything you remember.”
“I was at lunch with a friend of mine…a woman I dated at the time. We’ve broken up since. But we were eating in a nice white-tablecloth place downtown. There was a large table right across from me with about ten people in business suits around it. There were just two women and the rest men. But, one woman was clearly the boss, or at least was in charge of the lunch discussion. She did most of the talking and it was obvious that she had some authority because everybody else was paying careful attention to what she was saying. A couple were even taking notes. It was a round table and she was facing me with her back to the wall. She was very nice looking…probably about 45 or so…red hair…nice figure. She picked up the check just as we were finished with our lunch as well and were about to get up.”
“Then what happened?” With this, Lydia stood quietly and opened the armoire behind her.
“Then the most amazing thing happened. As all the others at her table got up to leave she reached down behind her and picked up two forearm crutches that I had not been able to see. They were on the floor against the wall. She got her arms into the cuffs and did some very exciting maneuvering on them as she made her way out from behind the table. They all left then and this woman had the most amazing gait…she had a rhythm that I can’t even describe. Her legs were thin and sort of flaccid. She had on navy blue sling-back shoes…not orthopedic shoes. No braces. But she did have a small build-up on her left shoe…maybe just an inch or so. She sort of half-walked, half-swung on her crutches. She picked her legs up high and they came down in sort of a one-two, one-two, ‘flop’ thing that just drove me crazy. The combination of being an obvious professional, being so well-dressed, in charge…authority figure, you know…and being so very, very crippled just made fireworks go off for me.” Mullins’ eyes were still closed. “My date had to tell me to stop staring,” he continued, clearly excited. An erection had begun to build.
“Is there anything else you remember about the encounter?” asked Lydia.
“Actually, yes. I remember that when she got up and started to move from behind the table she kind of caught one foot on a chair. She seemed stuck for just a second. And the expression on her face was amazing. It was like I could read her mind. She stared down at her leg and she was mad. It was like a showdown between her brain and her leg, and it was, like, “I’m in charge here and I’ll be damned if I’ll allow my muscles to NOT obey.” I’ll always remember that look.
As her patient was talking, Lydia very quietly removed her own forearm crutches from the armoire and slipped them on her arms. She carefully moved her plush leather office chair aside and took a silent swing out from behind the desk. She smiled to herself and looked down at her polio-stricken left leg, nearly four inches shorter than her right. She was wearing a pair of classic penny loafers in two different sizes. The smaller one—a size 4—on her left foot pointed nearly straight down. It dangled freely over the carpet. Her normal right foot, in its size-6 loafer, bore her weight.
Another couple of quick, short swings and she was standing next to the couch where her patient was lying. Lydia’s crutches were gray, and were custom made in one-piece construction. They did not produce the telltale “clicking” that would have tipped Brad Mullins off. She wanted to be a total surprise to him.
“Mr. Mullins, you may open your eyes now,” she said as she stood next to him.
When his eyes opened he gasped. What the…? Is this some kind of bad joke?
“Not at all. Do you think I could fake this?” Lydia pointed at her left leg.
Mullins looked at Lydia’s crippled leg and groaned in amazement.
“No, Mr. Mullins, I’m the real deal. A bona-fide polio survivor. My left leg is 3 and 5/8 inches shorter than my right. I have a build-up for it, and I can walk on it without crutches if I’m wearing a brace. But, it’s easier just to let it hang free and use crutches because my right leg was almost unaffected. What do you think? Am I good therapy for your paraphilia problem?”
“Oh, my sweet heaven,” said Mullins. “This can’t be really happening.”
“Oh, yes it can. And, if you’ll get undressed we’ll have a sex-therapy session to help you relieve some of that sexual tension I see has built up.”
Brad Mullins looked down at the huge mound at his crotch. He then looked up at Dr. Martin, who was unbuttoning her blouse.
“What about her?” asked Mullins, motioning to the door.
“Barb knows never, never to disturb me when I’m in session. We’re very safe. Now…get those pants off. The good doctor is going to administer some special techniques guaranteed to make you feel much better about your big, bad fetish.” Lydia giggled at her own bad joke. “You did come here to feel better about it, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yeah…oh YEAH!” breathed the patient. He rapidly disrobed and, once naked, helped Lydia get out of her clothes. The woman now standing before him in the nude except for her shoes was truly a fantasy come true. How often he had dreamed of seeing an attractive woman standing naked on crutches. Forearm crutches—his personal favorite.
Brad Mullins sat on the floor and removed Lydia’s left loafer, revealing a very pretty, slightly puffy, foot. Brad caressed it and began kissing her short leg feverishly.
“Hang on, there. Let’s get the other shoe off,” said Lydia. She then flexed her right knee to lower her dangling foot to the floor until it made contact. She stood on the ball of her elevated foot and lifted the other one to Brad. Mullins took its shoe off. This foot was truly beautiful, he thought, with almost perfectly formed toes and nicely pedicured nails. She wore a heavy silver toe ring on her fourth toe—rather unusual, Brad knew.
“Nice feet, Doctor. They are really very nice.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mullins. They’re all yours. Along with the rest of me. We have about 40 minutes left for therapy.”
Lydia straightened her long leg and the tiny arched foot left the ground again. Brad’s penis ached with desire as he put his arms around Lydia and kissed her supple breasts passionately. They fell back on the red leather divan and Brad kissed every inch of Lydia’s body, spending a great deal of time on her thin left leg. He marveled at how its fully-extended foot reached to just above the ankle of her right leg.
All the while Lydia was busily exploring her new patient as well. She loved the fact that he was so turned on by her little leg. It was quite a different scenario than she experienced with most men. She massaged and kneaded Brad and used her tongue on him until he moaned in ecstasy. Then he entered her and began to make love to her very elegantly. Lydia sighed with pleasure. It had been so long!
Dr. Martin rarely came out from behind her desk. Some of her patients had seen her multiple times and did not realize she walked on crutches. It was very important to her to maintain her professional decorum. She felt her lameness and her short leg would be a distraction to many, and perhaps a barrier to open therapeutic discussion for some. But, when Dr. Jefferson had called and mentioned Brad Mullins’ abasiophilia she decided it take a plunge she had fantasized for years. And it had worked. At least, she hoped it had. Brad didn’t seem too concerned about the departure from a real effort to help him deal with his fetish. In fact, maybe this WAS the best therapy after all. She certainly didn’t mind if he didn’t.
They made love for the rest of his appointment time and then the two of them got up and dressed silently.
“There is obviously a conflict of interest here,” said Lydia. “I have a professional dilemma. You came to me to try to put the fires of your fetish out. I just threw gasoline on them.”
“I’d like more therapy, please, Doctor. Maybe a little therapy over dinner Friday night. Then maybe a little more therapy at my place afterward. But, you’re right…the office probably isn’t the best option.”
“You’re on,” grinned Lydia. “Call me.”
“Thank Dr. Jefferson for the referral for me,” returned Brad with a broad smile. “It was absolutely the right thing to do.”
Lydia picked up her crutches and swung to the office door with Brad. She stood in her office as he made his way past Barb’s desk. Her receptionist was surprised to see Dr. Martin personally escort a patient to the door.
“Barb, there’s no charge for Mr. Mullins’ session today,” said Lydia. “And he won’t need follow up appointments, either. I think he’s found the solution to his problem.”
Brad left chuckling to himself as Barb sat looking at Dr. Lydia Martin as if she’d lost her mind.