Hey boys - here's something new just for you!! Sexy sexy para fun!

So one of the sexiest studios I've worked with for erotic devotee videos has just released something new, and I think I suspect it's something many of my male devotee followers would be VERY interested in!  It's the lovely Brittany, paralyzed from her belly button down, just returned home from a doctor's office visit, explaining all about her paralyzed legs, then undressing, showing off her bulky diaper, and then giving the viewer slow and sensual Jerk Off Instruction...  I don't have a cock, and even I was turned on, so I think this one is really good, and only $10!!! 

I really hope lots of people order this and encourage her to do more sexy devotee related videos.  She's really sexy, isn't she?? 

Get the new video here:   http://www.clips4sale.com/56851/16335674

Let me know if you get it and how you like it!!  I'd love to hear from you! 

The Wedding Vow - Hetero Version

The Wedding Vow (Hetero Version)

By ParaCathy

It was eleven days before the wedding when Anthony got the call at work.  There had been an accident, the voice said, and he needed to get to the hospital right away.  There were no details, just that calm, detached voice saying that Juliet had been in an accident and that Anthony needed to get to the emergency room right away, and that was what bothered him the most.  The dread continued to build as Anthony rushed across town to the hospital and every nightmare scenario pushing it’s way into his mind was worse than the last.  He was in tears by the time he rushed his way to the nurses’ station, asking for his finace.  

“I got a call, Juliet Harris has been in an accident.” he panted, eyes pleading with the nurse behind the desk.  

“Are you family?” the nurse asked, clicking the mouse and staring at the computer screen.  

“I’m her finace and should be listed as her next of kin. Anthony Snow.” Anthony said.  His first nightmare was that he wouldn’t be considered ‘family’ enough to get information on his fiance.  All his muscles were tense as he watched the nurse tapping on the keyboard.  

“Ok, here you are - I’ll call Doctor Webber to come talk to you.” The nurse said.  Was that sadness in the look she gave Anthony, or was that just his imagination?   

“Can’t you just tell me what - “ Anthony started to say, but at the moment a middle aged doctor in a gleaming white labcoat came through the double doors.

“Mister Snow?” he said, walking over to Anthony.  He nodded.  “Please come with me and we can talk.”

“When can I see Juliet?” Anthony stammered, looking around the waiting area as if she would suddenly appear.  

“She is sedated right now.” the doctor replied.  “I will take you to her, but first we need to talk.”

Anthony followed Doctor Webber in a daze, the details of the hospital, the beeping sounds and rushing nurses and fluorescent lights all blending together into a kaleidoscope of fear.  Finally, Doctor Webber led Anthony into a quiet side office and offered him a seat and a glass of water.  Anthony’s hands were shaking.  

“Anthony, Juliet was was in an accident, her car was hit by a delivery truck who had run the light at an intersection.  We have her stabilized, but…  there’s no easy way to say this, Anthony.  Juliet has sustained a serious spinal cord injury at the C5 vertebrae - she has a broken neck.”  

“A broken neck - that’s... “ Anthony’s heart was racing.  His brain knew what that meant but his heart wasn’t ready to admit it.  “That’s paralysis, right?” he looked at Doctor Webber, eyes welling with tears.  

The Wedding Vow - Lesbian Version

The Wedding Vow (Lesbian Version)

By ParaCathy

It was eleven days before the wedding when Angela got the call at work.  There had been an accident, the voice said, and she needed to get to the hospital right away.  There were no details, just that calm, detached voice saying that Juliet had been in an accident and that Angela needed to get to the emergency room right away, and that was what bothered her the most.  The dread continued to build as Angela rushed across town to the hospital and every nightmare scenario pushing it’s way into her mind was worse than the last.  She was in tears by the time she rushed her way to the nurses’ station, asking for her finace.  

“I got a call, Juliet Harris has been in an accident.” she panted, eyes pleading with the nurse behind the desk.  

“Are you family?” the nurse asked, clicking the mouse and staring at the computer screen.  

“I’m her finace and should be listed as her next of kin. Angela Snow.” Angela said.  Her first nightmare was that she wouldn’t be considered ‘family’ enough to get information on her fiance.  All her muscles were tense as she watched the nurse tapping on the keyboard.  

“Ok, here you are - I’ll call Doctor Webber to come talk to you.” The nurse said.  Was that sadness in the look she gave Angela, or was that just her imagination?   

“Can’t you just tell me what - “ Angela started to say, but at the moment a middle aged doctor in a gleaming white labcoat came through the double doors.

“Miss Snow?” he said, walking over to Angela.  She nodded.  “Please come with me and we can talk.”

“When can I see Juliet?” Angela stammered, looking around the waiting area as if she would suddenly appear.  

“She is sedated right now.” the doctor replied.  “I will take you to her, but first we need to talk.”

Angela followed Doctor Webber in a daze, the details of the hospital, the beeping sounds and rushing nurses and fluorescent lights all blending together into a kaleidoscope of fear.  Finally, Doctor Webber led Angela into a quiet side office and offered her a seat and a glass of water.  Angela’s hands were shaking.  

“Angela, Juliet was was in an accident, her car was hit by a delivery truck who had run the light at an intersection.  We have her stabilized, but…  there’s no easy way to say this, Angela.  Juliet has sustained a serious spinal cord injury at the C5 vertebrae - she has a broken neck.”  

“A broken neck - that’s... “ Angela’s heart was racing.  Her brain knew what that meant but her heart wasn’t ready to admit it.  “That’s paralysis, right?” she looked at Doctor Webber, her eyes welling with tears.  

D-Models - long time Devotee Resource

We all know that devotee resources come and go - great sites that are active for a while, producing great content, that simply vanish, or else stop updating and linger on like zombies.  It happens often - people get tired of it, or get harassed for their interests, or they can't make any money because of piracy, a sad fact of our community.

Some sites, however, have remained, steadily producing quality devotee material for many years, regularly updating with new models and new scenes for your viewing pleasure.  D-Models has been one of these sites, producing high quality images of beautiful disabled models for over a decade!

Link:  http://d-models.tajvdz.nl/index.html 

D-Models produces photo sets of beautiful paraplegic and amputee women in outdoor, indoor, and even bedroom settings.  The quality of their work is very high, with clear, well composed photos, and their models have something for everyone; attractive women with a variety of disabilities.  They also offer at least two new updates a month, an impressive feat lately, and offer beautiful new models often.

In a community where sites cone and go regularly, D-Models has stood the test of time and still produces some of the most excellent photos in the community. 

Cathy's First Illustrated Story!!

This is it - my very first fully illustrated story!!  I worked with an incredibly talented digital artist, Steske, who took my ideas, my fantasies, and 'fleshed them out' so to speak, and he did an AMAZING job with it, I think you'll agree. 
While the story is a bit different from my past history, I think it is very much a 'Paragirl' story through and through, and I'm very proud of it! 

Since the story was published in PDF, I'm proving a link to where it's hosted on DeviantArt - it should not need a login to access it, but if you have any trouble accessing or downloading it, let me know, hopefully I can fix it. 

Jessica and Michelle  By ParaCathy and Steske

I hope you enjoy, please feel free to leave feeback :)

Cathy

Story - The Secret Identity

The Secret Identity By ParaGirl

Originally posted in the Wheelchair Fiction yahoo group

One minute, the bank robbers were standing there pointing automatic weapons at the bank tellers. The next - there was a blur of magenta and gold and the four armed thugs lay in a pile, unconscious, with their weapons bent or broken on the floor.

Everyone looked around and saw the magenta-clad Destiny Girl floating in mid-air, her cape shimmering as she hovered, smiling. Her eyes sparked gold under her magenta and black domino mask.

“Is anyone hurt?” she asked the crowd, who were still in shock at the turn of events. They looked over one another and the bank manager finally stepped forward.

“I - I think we’re OK, Destiny Girl.” he said with a stammer. “They were so fast, We.. We didn’t even have time to hit the silent alarm. How did you know?”

“It’s my job to know, sir.” she said with a flourish, then added “I think the police will be able to handle it from here - I’ve already alerted them, I hear the sirens already. I’m glad nobody got hurt.” and with that, she flew out the open doors and into the midday sky.

Destiny Girl (Whose real name was Danielle) looked around carefully to make sure nobody was looking, then quickly grabbed the duffel bad holding her clothes and changed in a lightning-fast maneuver that most people would have only seen as a blur. She lowered herself into her titanium sport wheelchair and arranged her limp legs, freshened her hair, fastened the nylon padded lap belt, and wheeled out into the midday sun. She wheeled down the sidewalk to the cafe across from the bank, where she had been trying to get her iced mocha latte before she was so rudely interrupted.

“Hey Danielle, you just missed her!” Carlos said behind the counter, already mixing her drink.

“Missed who, Lady GaGa?” Danielle said as she wheeled up to the counter and put her credit card through the machine.

“No, Destiny Girl.” Carlos said, an exasperated smile across his face. Danielle loved to tease him and they constantly bantered back and forth about her. Danielle thought it was cute how in love Carlos was with her super-powered alter-ego, even though he was very openly gay.

“Oh her - what was she doing, making a deposit?” Danielle loved to goad him on.

“Try saving the bank from like a dozen heavily armed bank robbers.” he said, his eyes glassing over as he imaged the daring scene. “I heard one of them had a bazooka, but it didn’t even phase her, she laughed it off.”

Danielle was always amazed at how her exploits grew almost exponentially as people retold them. In less than 15 minutes she had already laughed off a bazooka attack. She smiled up at Carlos.

“I’m sure she was awesome Carlos - almost as awesome as your mocha latte.” She smiled. “So, has Destiny girl ever come in for a coffee?” She chided, pointing at the hand lettered sign in the window saying ‘No Charge for Destiny Girl’.

“No.” He sighed. “But some day I’m sure she will, I just know it!”

“I’m sure she will.” Danielle said. “I hope I’m here to see it.”

Danielle wheeled down the street, managing to avoid ignorant pedestrians paying more attention to their cell phones than the woman in the wheelchair, at the same time sipping her perfect mocha latte. She really could save some money if she took some of these shopkeepers up on their offers - half the businesses in town had put signs up proclaiming ‘No charge for Destiny Girl’ since her debut ten months before, stopping a runaway bus from plunging into the river. She had been tempted, definitely, but that was a slippery slope that, at best, would look like she was endorsing businesses or products and, at worst, could even result in someone recognizing her from the neighborhood.

She still worried that, some day, Carlos or someone else she had daily dealings with would see her up close as Destiny Girl and would recognize her. She’d just have to rely on her secret identity - and the fact that there were no other heroes (that she knew of, anyway) who were paraplegics. Blind, sure - she knew three off the top of her head. Amputees, too - they always got the high tech bionic augmentations, like ‘Scissorkick’ with his ultra high tech legs and ‘WhipCrack’ with the extend-able whips that came out of his prosthetic hands. She thought she knew a super-villain too, ‘Crimson Claw’, who had his hands replaced with razor-sharp claws of some indestructible space alloy, but she wasn’t completely sure about that one.

Danielle made it to her apartment and wheeled around the back. One of the great ironies of her life - the amazing Destiny Girl, unstoppable by anything but a short flight of stairs at the front door.

Finally in her apartment, she tossed the empty latte cup in the trash and put her bag down, then wheeled to her computer. By day, when she wasn’t busting criminals, she was a blogger and disability rights expert who wrote for several publications, both online and in print. She logged into her latest article, about a new public building that had somehow been built without a ramp, and then took out her notepad with several juicy quotes from the building contractor who had somehow ‘misplaced’ the original plans for the building. He assured her - all the time looking nervously at her wheelchair and wringing his hands - that the building would be fully accessible within two months.

Three hours later and the article was finished and sent to her editor and she was headed for the gym. She packed her gym bag with the basics and wheeled out to meet sheila, her personal trainer.

“Hey Sheila.” she said with a smile, wheeling into the well equipped gym. Sheila smiled that warm, special smile of hers and said hello back.”

“So what are we going to work on today?” Danielle asked, taking a quick swig from her sports bottle.

“Last time we worked the shoulders hard, today we’ll go with biceps and triceps.” she said, setting up a padded bench and taking out some weights.

“I was thinking we could work on my legs.” Danielle teased, wheeling up to the bench. Sheila grabbed her limp legs and helped her transfer onto the weight bench, then strapping her on.

“I think we’d need a private session for that.” Sheila said, without missing a beat, her cheeks turning red. Danielle knew Sheila was a devotee, though the topic had never ‘officially’ come up. She wasn’t ready to talk about it, but Danielle kept hinting. Danielle didn’t identify with ‘lesbian’ or ‘heterosexual’, she just wanted a date, someone who could look beyond the chair and, maybe some day, beyond the secret identity. Another irony of her life, she mused - Destiny Girl could defeat Captain Chaos and his mechanical minions in an afternoon, but Danielle couldn’t land a date with a woman who actually had a fetish for paralyzed legs. She laughed to herself.

“What’s so funny?” Sheila said, helping Danielle with the weights. Danielle had to remember to appear like she was straining a bit with the twenty pound dumbbells.

“Just thinking.” she said with a smile. “I will get you over to my apartment some day.”

“I know you will...” said Sheila, then seemed to make a decision. “How about Friday?”

“How about tonight.” Danielle said without skipping a beat, doing slow measured curls with the weights as she spoke. She had thought about this scene a hundred times, and she knew if she gave Sheila the opportunity to think about it too much, she’s chicken out. She wanted to strike with the fire was still hot, as it were. She realized she had used similar tactics against Baron Nocturna a month before. Her life was really complicated.

“Sure.” Sheila said, her voice a little shaky. “Tonight, seven o’clock.”

“You know where I live?” Danielle asked, suddenly feeling excited and, could it be, nervous? She could fight giant killer robots from Mars without breaking a nail, but a date with a pretty girl had her palms sweating. Complicated life indeed.

For the rest of the workout Danielle talked about dinner plans and Sheila tried to turn the date into a ‘friends getting together’ kind of meetup, but by the end of the session Danielle was teasing Sheila by asking what she wanted for breakfast and Sheila had just given in and said ‘Waffles with a side of you’ with a big pink-cheeked embarrassed grin.

Danielle quickly wheeled into the adapted shower and cleaned up, then headed home to order a dinner delivery and tidy things up for Sheila. She wanted everything to be just perfect, and she decided it would be easiest to close all the blinds tight and use a little ‘super speed’ to clean the place up. It was risky - anyone seeing her floating about the apartment out of her wheelchair would immediately know she was a super - but for this, her first date since the accident, she wanted everything to be perfect.

And that’s when it all went wrong...

“Urgent call for Destiny Girl - there is a bomb in Metro Hospital, we need your help.” came across the special radio frequency that she had set up with local law enforcement. They only used it when it was truly a crisis, and this sounded like a big one, bomb in a hospital was pretty bad. She looked at the clock - 5:55. Just over an hour before Sheila was going to be there.

Danielle sighed and shook her head, then floated out of her wheelchair and changed into her Destiny Girl costume in a flash, then shot out of the apartment headed to Metro Hospital. Just over an hour - it was possible she’d be done by then, but she wouldn't have too much time to clean up. She flew at near supersonic speeds and hoped this would be a quick one...

Flash Fiction - First Time for Everything

First Time for Everything By ParaGirl

For Bobbi, because I cant' get this out of my head now....

I don't know why I answered the ad. It's not my thing, never has been - really. If you had told me a year ago - hell, even a month ago - that I would be doing this, I'd have laughed. No - I would have probably yelled at you and maybe even spat some expletives. Tonight though....

I'm a lesbian - always have been. Not some trucker dyke - not that there's anything wrong with them - but a real femme lesbian. Designer skirts and dresses, fancy shoes, long, full hair. And my wheelchair of course. I'm in a wheelchair for pleasure, I have a real fetish for being in a wheelchair and for women in wheelchairs. It's my 'thing' - some girls like boobs or legs or hair. I like wheelchairs. Girls in wheelchairs. I think it's sexy...

So I get to the hotel where we agreed to meet - a nice place with big rooms and a jacuzzi tub - and check in. Becca is already there, room 301. The cute redhead conceirge hands me a key card with a smile and directs me to the elevators. I smile back and wheel up to the wide metal doors and press the button. The doors open and I wheel inside, turning on the spot and pressing the 3 button. The doors slip shut silently and the elevator lurches upwards.

I look in the mirror that lines the elevator wall. I'm wearing a knockout black dress with subtle accents of silver. My bulky diaper is just visible through the soft silky material and my legs are clad in very expensive black stockings and ballet slippers on my feet. The slippers were a request by my Becca - I guess she has a thing for them. I was happy to oblige.

As the doors slid open I looked once more - my shoulder length auburn hair was full and lush, my makeup perfect, my eyes sparkling. I was still hesitant though, still unsure, my motivations clear yet... unclear at the same time.

Room 301 was the first door on the right and I slipped the electronic key card into the door slot and heard the soft click of the lock opening. I pushed the door open easily and wheeled into the large, fancy, well lit suite.

Becca was there, in her wheelchair, smiling at me - she also looked nervous, but excited as well. She looked to my feet immidiately and I saw the color raise in her cheeks. She was wearing a pretty knee length skirt and designer blouse, thigh high stockings, and red patent stilettos - my request to her.

"Hi, I'm Cathy." I said lamely, smiling at her. She was even more beautiful than in the pics she had sent me. Amazing. Her legs were obviously paralyzed for real and I knew they had been for over six years, a bad car accident. Her face was soft and sensual, her eyes big and pretty, staring at me deeply and, if I wasn't mistaken, longingly.

"I'm Becca.." she said with a nervous giggle. "I just wanted to say, I've never done this kind of thing...."

"I know, Becca - neither of us have, it's OK. Want a drink? We should loosen up a bit, I think..."

"Sure." Becca said, smiling again. "You really are pretty."

"Thanks, you're goregeous." I said honestly. "Your pics did you no justice."

"And am I...." she said nervously and spun side to side in her chair.

"Oh yes, your legs are lovely, just perfect." I grinned.

"Oh, and though I usually dont, this is for you." She said and lifted her skirt. I could see the bulky depends diaper poking between her legs. I moaned in spite of myself.

We opened a bottle of wine and chatted a little, but neithe rof us really said much. As the wine warmed me and I kept looking at Becca, at her wheelchair, her legs, I was getting more and more aroused. I could tell Becca was the same - she kept lookign at my feet in their satin ballet slippers - brand new ones, too, they'd never even touched the floor.

Finally I lifted one leg with both hands and made a show of plopping it limply in Becca's lap. She smiled and started playing with my ballet-slipper clad foot, and before either of us knew it, we were kissing each other deeply. Her lips were warm and soft, her hair smelled like strawberries and rain, and her hands roamed all over my body; my breasts, my shoulders, my neck, then lower to my thighs, my diaper. I moaned and my hands began exploring her body as well. Her breasts were exquisite and I soon had them out of the sexy bra she held them captive with. Her nipples were erect and she moaned as I rolled them between my fingers.

"I want you to be my naughty crippled girl." breathed Becca into my ear.

"I am baby, I am..."

"Show me, I want you to crawl to me, drag those limp little legs and crawl to me."

My heart was pounding in my chest as I wheeled to the other side of the room and slipped out of my chair, careful not to use my legs at all. I dragged myself slowly to her, making a good show of my struggle, dragging my 'useless' legs behind me, moaning as I crawled and slipping my dress off as I went. Becca was playign with her nipples and moanign as she watched me drag myself to her. I looked up at her, my eyes pleading, and she got the message instantly.

"Come on cripple, get over here to please me, drag those dead legs and get over here to me." she said with a voice full of lust. I felt my sex blaze hot - I loved the humiliation, being reminded that I was a helpless cripple.... and of course my heart was pounding at what I knew was coming next. I wasn't sure what to expect, I was nervous, but I was curious and very excited....

I reached Becca's wheelchair panting, wanting to rub my sex and relive some of the tension that had already built up, but I knew that wasn't going to be allowed yet. I crawled to Becca's feet and started kissing and licking her shoes. She let me, moaning as I worshipped her limp feet and sexy patent shoes.

"Higher, slut." She said to me and I obeyed instantly, caressing and kissing her soft, paralyzed legs. They felt divine, exquisite, so perfectly crippled, sexy beyond words. I moaned and kissed and caressed and dragged myself up to her knees. I looked at her, waiting for her to react, waiting for the next move. Becca looked a little hesitant, but then pulled off her skirt with a practiced twist, so she sat in stockings and a diaper in her wheelchair. I saw the atrophied line of her thighs, the utter lack of muscle tone I had always fantasized about.

"Take off my diaper, cripple." she said in a commanding but sultry voice. Was there a note of anxiety to it as well, though? I reached up, pulling the tabs at her sides, and opened the puffy white diaper, folding it down against her chair seat.

This is what I had come to see, this is where my fascination had led me. Between Becca's legs was a flaccid penis and trimmed mop of pubic hair. It wasn't as big a shock as it might have been if I hadn't been prepared, but after takign in the rest of Becca's exquisite - and apparently very female - body, it was still a little strange seeing a cock between her legs. She had, as she had told me, the sexiest female body money could buy... mostly.

"Touch it." She said - not a command, more a hesitant request.

I took it in my hands. It was warm, soft, it felt smooth. It was fascinating to me - I had never had much to do with them. It was, asI knew, as limp and crippled as her legs, but that just made it more interesting, more exciting. I rubbed it, stroked it, felt it pulse in my hands. I played with Becca's balls, rolled them in my fingers. I started getting into it. So did Becca.

"Oh god, yes, touch it, please, I want to see you playing with it..." she said. I complied happily, even eagerly, jerking off her limp cock, letting it flop onto the wheelchair seat, fondling her balls. Barely realizing what I was doing, I bent down and took the flacid dick into my mouth, sucking it and rolling it around with my tounge. It never went erect, never even tried to, but I heard Becca saying 'Oh god' softly as I gave her head. It was surreal and yet incredibly erotic and somehow I was really getting into it. I reached up and rubbed her breasts and it seemed perfectly normal and natural, to be playing with a woman's firm, perfect breasts while sucking on her flaccid, paralyzed cock.

"Stop now, slut." she said. I complied. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a black strap on dildo. This was unexpected, yet I found myself excited by it just the same. "Put this on me." she commanded, and I took the dildo in my hands with an excited reverence.

It was hollow inside, and I slipped her limp cock into it and fastened the straps securely around her hips. This was a scene I was much more familiar with - a hot girl with a strap-on cock - but I found that I almost missed the limp paralyzed dick it hid.

"Get onto the bed, cripple." Becca said in a shaky voice. I complied, crawling and dragging myself until I was hanging, legs off the bed, hips against the mattress. I felt her positioning herself and shifting my legs as I gripped the sheets, then felt her lube-soaked fingers enter my anus. Her limp legs came next, one on either side of me, now without the patent stilettos, her feet brushing limply against me, and then the dildo penetrated my ass and she was fucking me, pushing herself back and forwards in her wheelchair, her floppy legs bumping against me in an erotic rhythm as she fucked me and told me what a naughty, worthless crippled girl I was.

I came four or five times I lost count before she stopped. My ass throbbed and my sex was on fire as she wheeled back and removed the strap on, her flaccid dick flopping out, still unmoved by our erotic play. It made me even hotter knowing it never would.

"Get back in your wheelchair, cripple." She told me, eyes hopeful and full of anticipation. I dragged myself unsteadily back to my chair and lifted myself heavily into it. I wheeled back to her. She used her hands to spread her legs and then told me where and how to park. I complied.

She lifted both my feet - still dressed in the new satin ballet slippers - and I made every effort not to move a muscle, not to twitch. She caressed and kissed my feet, then started rubbing her cock with them, jerking of with my feet. I sat and moaned about how sexy it was, how hot it made me, and she kept going, more and more frantic. I wished that my legs were truly dead and limp for her, but the roleplay seemed to be working for her anyway. With a shutter and moan she peed onto my feet, a warm dribble that actually made me cum again in my chair. She dropped my feet and, without being asked, I reached down and started rubbing her cock again, feeling it, rubbing and caressing it, and she moaned more and sighed and smiled.

Story - Close Encounters of the Devotee Kind

Close Encounters of the Devotee Kind

Sarah was having the most horrible dream, terrifying visions of leering, gray faces and violently spinning purple and orange lights. She felt pain, though she was pretty sure somewhere in the back of her mind that she shouldn't have been able to, then she felt a deep cold sensation down her right leg. The rest of her night was spent in restless, uncomfortable sleep, and when her alarm clock buzzed aggressively she felt like she hadn't slept at all. Then, as the turned off her alarm and pulled off the sheets, she screamed.

"Miss Jones, I'm afraid we simply don't have any explanation. It's... it's like nothing we've ever seen. Your right leg has been expertly amputated, as you can obviously see, and it's completely healed. By all accounts and by every means of examination we have, your leg was amputated mid thigh at least a decade ago." the doctor said, obviously deeply confused.

"But it was there YESTERDAY!" Sarah said exasperated, like someone who had been saying the same thing over and over all day. She was sitting on an exam table, her left leg dangling out of her hospital gown, her right leg - well, her right stump - pressing flat into the padded exam table top. "I had two legs went I went to bed, I've been over this a hundred times today!" she said, openly crying again. She had indeed woken to find her right leg completely gone, just a smooth, round stump in it's place. She could feel it, move it, it didn't hurt at all, but the fact remained that her leg was gone without a trace. She had vague recollections of bad dreams, but in all the panic of awaking as an amputee, she didn't put much thought into her nightmares.

"I understand your concern." said the new doctor unconvincingly. What was he, the eight? Ninth? She had lost count. Some time after lunch she realized they weren't diagnosing anything any more, they were just curious. Nothing like it had ever been seen, completely new phenomena, totally astonishing, blah blah blah - there was an air of sarcasm to all of it, though, an underlying incredulity that made Sarah uncomfortable. "But right now there is no indication that things will get worse. Other than the, um..., unusual situation, you are in perfect health, so..."

"So what? You're sending me home?" she said, looking defeated.

"There's nothing more we can do here, Sarah." the doctor said with a resigned sigh. "There is simply nothing medically wrong with you - at least nothing any part of medical science has ever encountered before. Go home, get some rest, and call this number in the morning - It's the number of a local rehab center with a good outpatient program to help you adjust."

"Adjust??" Sarah said, not fully understanding.

"Yes, adjust to your, um... situation." he said again, his bedside manner completely undone by the bizarre situation. "I believe you indicated earlier that you were familiar with the use of crutches?"

"So that's it? Give the one legged girl a pair of crutches and send her home?" Sarah was trying not to cry again, she was tired of it and didn't want to give this guy the satisfaction. The doctor handed her a pair of ordinary aluminum underarm crutches and she grabbed hold of them, angry and annoyed and a little afraid. With a little effort she stood on her one remaining leg and got her balance, taking a few tentative steps around the room. She was clumsy and the crutches hurt her shoulders, but at least she was walking and not being pushed in a wheelchair. She ushered the doctor out of the room and then slowly got dressed.

She crutched out of the room, the leg of her slacks folded crudely around her stump, and signed all the paperwork necessary for release, painfully aware of all the eyes tracking her every move. She was frightened and annoyed and tired and wanted nothing more than just getting back home. Thankfully the hospital provided a shuttle back to her condo and, after the most disturbing, frightening, and bizarre day of her whole life, she crutched into her living room and plopped heavily onto the couch, letting her crutches clatter to the floor. Her good leg ached, her shoulders ached, and she had no idea what she was going to do now that she was an amputee. She looked at the number to the outpatient rehab center and resolved to call it in the morning. She turned on the TV, watching something stupid that she couldn't pay attention to, and soon the stress of the day finally overcame her and she fell into a deep sleep.

The dreams again. The leering faces, the pain, the cool sensations, the flashing lights. She tossed and turned and finally cried out, waking herself and rolling off the couch, unbalanced because of her missing leg. She threw her hands out to catch herself and saw her right arm - or what remained of it, just another smooth, round stump that ended between her elbow and shoulder. She hit the floor with a thud and cried out, more from shock than actual pain.

"Sarah, we would like to formally apologize." said the very official looking man in the very expensive suit. Certainly not a doctor, possibly an administrator of some kind. Maybe a lawyer. "In short, we found your story yesterday so completely implausible that we honestly thought you were a psychiatric patient. The number you were given yesterday as you were discharged was to a psychiatric hotline, not a rehab center." the man looked very red, very nervous.

"So all that time yesterday, you never believed me? Not a single person?" she said angrily. She lay semi-reclined in bed, her arm stump waving animatedly as she shouted.

"Please, see it from our point of view, Sarah." the man said. "What has happened to you, well, it's simply not possible!"

"And yet here I am!" she said, staring at him and holding up her new stump.

"Please take my word, and the promise of the entire staff of this hospital, that we are doing everything we can to understand this situation and ensure that is doesn't happen again."

"Ha!" she shouted, her eyes puffy with tears. "You have no idea what's going on, how can you say you can stop it?"

"You will be staying here, in a private room in the hospital, and there are teams from the CDC and bio-toxins lab at your condo testing everything they can. We'll find the issue, and until you do, you should be safe here."

"I don't feel safe anywhere..." Sarah said, rubbing her arm stump with her slender left hand.

"Hi, I'm Olivia." said the young nurses' aid as she entered Sarah's room with a tray of food. Sarah had to admit it smelled great and she was starving after a day of the most extreme and intensive medical tests she had ever experienced.

"Hi Olivia." Sarah said quietly, trying to force a weak smile. "What's that?"

"Dinner - don't look at it that way, it's not hospital food. I went out and got a nice dinner from a place down the street - marinated grilled chicken, vegetables - it should be good." she smiled and set up Sarah's tray and raised her bed a little so Sarah was sitting up more.

"Thanks, Olivia." said Sarah and grabbed the fork from the tray. She looked down at the knife and the grilled chicken breasts and started to cry.

"It's OK Sarah, I can help." Olivia said, quickly grabbing the knife and fork and cutting Sarah's food into bite sized pieces. "Don't you worry about a thing, I can help you take care of whatever you need. You're my only patient tonight." she smiled warmly.

Sarah ate slowly, not really speaking. Halfway through dinner she looked up at Olivia. "I have to..." she said, a note of urgency in her voice.

"To what, Sarah?" Olivia asked, getting to her feet.

Sarah looked at her, a cross between panicked and embarrassed, and Olivia understood. "You want the bedpan or try for the toilet?" she asked.

"Toilet, I can make it." Sarah said, and Olivia helped her into a rolling attendant chair and pushed her into the bathroom, then helped her onto the toilet and looked away discretely as Sarah urinated, then helped her get cleaned up. to her credit, Sarah didn't cry when Olivia had to help her wipe.

Once Sarah was back in bed and had finished dinner, Olivia turned on the TV.

"Stay and watch with me?" Sarah asked, more fear and desperation in her voice than she expected.

"Sure." Olivia said cheerfully. "Like I said - you're my only patient tonight."

The two watched TV until close to midnight and Olivia finally fell asleep in the reclining chair by Sarah's bed. Sarah, too, finally succumbed to sleep, though she continued to fight it until after 1am according to the big round clock on the wall. She fell asleep, her left hand holding the stump of her right arm, and hoped that she wouldn't have those terrible bad dreams again.

The dreams came, though, and Sarah was terrified, she was confused. The same dreams, the insane leering faces, the bizarre sensations, the lights. There were voices in this one, too, something Sarah could barely make out. The sensations and sounds and fears all rolled and swirled together until Sarah finally awoke, gasping. In the half light of the private room she could see that Olivia was still sitting near the bed, tossing and thrashing and moaning in her sleep.

"Olivia!" she called out in little more than a whisper. She swallowed, then took a deep breath and called out more loudly. "Olivia! Wake up!" she said.

Olivia's eyes popped open with a start and she looked around the room as if she had momentarily forgotten where she was. "Oh, Sarah, I'm sorry, I must have dozed off. I had the most bizarre dream..." she said, still groggy and wiping sleep from her eyes.

"Olivia, look at me." Sarah said in the most calm voice she could manage. "I want you to stay calm, OK?"

Olivia looked at Sarah curiously, then froze, as if something was suddenly dawning on her. She looked down, following Sarah's gaze to her legs - or what had been her legs, anyway. Her long, athletic legs were now short, underdeveloped, lifeless, and totally numb.

"Sarah..." she said, her breath coming quickly, panic starting to set in. "Sarah, I can't feel my legs!" Olivia cried, staring down at her now crippled, paralyzed legs.

"Me either Olivia." Sarah said, pulling off her sheets. Both legs ended in round stumps between knee and hip, her left arm now her only remaining limb. "Maybe we can get matching wheelchairs...."

There was an insane rush around the hospital as soon as Sarah and Olivia's conditions were discovered. According to hallway surveillance both women had never left the room and nobody had gotten in, the door remained shut the whole time. There was no explanation for the situation and everyone in the hospital was completely baffled.

"How are you feeling?" Sarah asked Olivia as they wheeled her back into the room they now shared. Olivia's eyes were red from recent crying.

"I'm paralyzed completely from T2 down. And it looks as if..."

"As if you've been paralyzed for years." Sarah said, completely understanding.

"As if I've been paralyzed since birth..." Olivia corrected bitterly.

Sarah watched as Olivia struggled to transfer out of her hospital wheelchair onto the bed beside her, dragging her small, crippled legs with her. Her feet were curled and ankles turned in and her legs lacked all muscle tone. It really looked like she had been in a wheelchair all her life. Sarah could see the bulky hospital diaper under her hospital gown and her cheeks went pink, embarrassed.

"Don't be embarrassed." Olivia said with a sigh, seeing her reaction. "Last night I helped you use the toilet. Ironically, tonight I can't use it any more..." she said, patting the diaper. "But this isn't our fault, it's just something crazy, insane that happened..."

"That is happening." Sarah corrected.

"You think?" Olivia asked, looking at her wide-eyed.

"It's been three nights in a row for me, why wouldn't I?" she said. "Maybe you should sleep in a different room Olivia." Olivia shook her head.

"No, I figure we're in this together now. If they're coming back for you, chances are they'll want me too."

Sarah reached out her one remaining hand and Olivia took hold of it, grasping it firmly.

"Besides." Olivia continued, lifting one of her limp legs and shifting it on the bed. "We've got to try and stay awake all night and see what happens."

The two women sat in the hospital bed together, eating and watching TV and chatting as if they had known each other forever. They were both being monitored via a tangle of wires, and there was a closed circuit TV camera watching them both. Sarah needed a lot of help to get simple things done with only one arm and no legs, but even paralyzed Olivia was a big help. Sarah helped Olivia with a couple diaper changes as well, not feeling at all embarrassed by it any more. It was surprising and bizarre how quickly they both seemed to be adjusting to disabled life - though in the confines of a fully staffed hospital Sarah was certain things were not nearly as complicated as they would be back home.

One AM rolled around with the women still awake and chatting. Then 1:30, 1:45, 1:55 and both women were wide awake, watching television and talking animatedly. Olivia was giving Sara a stump massage that felt really wonderful, and both women were giggling about calling it a 'foot massage'. At 1:58am exactly, however, both women dropped to the bed and fell into a deep and immediate sleep.

The dreams were more terrifying than ever, and Sarah realized that in some way, she was actually awake and experiencing everything for real, not in a typical dream state. She felt the cold gripping sensation on her left arm and then knew immediately that her last remaining limb was gone. She looked around frantically and saw more swirling colors, bizarre otherworldly faces, but she couldn't make anything out clearly, it was like she was on some very strong hallucinogenic drug trip.

Sarah woke with a gasp and the lights were already coming on. It was still 1:58am according to the hospital clock, but it seemed like the dream 'attack' had taken hours. A doctor and two nurses rushed into the room and started checking things - a cold stethoscope was pressed to Sarah's breast. Olivia was still thrashing a bit and Sarah reached for her, but realized immediately that her left arm was, as she had experienced in the dream, amputated at the same level as her right arm. She was a quadruple amputee, helpless.

One of the nurses shook Olivia awake and she cried out. "Sarah!" she said, arms groping around. "Sarah, I can't see!" she said, panicked. "Where are you??"

"I'm here Olivia." Sarah said. "I'm right here, the doctor is here too."

"I can't find you Sarah, take my hand." she said, her voice still panicky.

"I can't Olivia, I don't have any arms now." Sarah said. "And it looks like your eyes are gone, sweety." she said, not wishing to belabor the point. Olivia's hands went to her eyes, then pulled away when they felt the hollow, empty eyelids.

The cameras caught nothing but three and a half seconds of static. The multiple vital signs monitors were level and flat until that static hit, then both women's vital signs jumped up as if they were terrified. That was all the evidence that was collected, aside from the fact that Sarah's left arm was amputated and Olivia's eyes were both surgically removed.

In their hospital room, they sat in wheelchairs, across from each other at a square table their breakfast was spread out on. Eggs, bacon, coffee, waffles. It all smelled great, but neither woman had much appetite. Sarah was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts someone had found for her, her stumps exposed. Olivia was in small sweatpants and fuzzy socks covering her crippled legs and feet, though her bulky diaper was obvious under it. she wore sunglasses, too - at her own insistence. Both women were being fed by orderlies who seemed more than a little uncomfortable being there - it was obvious everyone in the hospital knew what had happened, or had at least heard something bizarre. Olivia turned her head to where she imagined Sarah was sitting.

"So, what's next?" She said.

Sarah stared at her and started to reply...

STORY - Phantom Pain

The accident shouldn't have been that bad. I mean, it was bad - industrial accidents tend to be bad in general - but it wasn't THAT bad. An industrial laundry cart had broken free of the chain that was pulling it and it slid out of control, right into me. I saw it coming and dove out of the way, just not quite far enough.

I never blacked out. I saw the half-ton cart slam into my lower legs and feet, shattering every bone from my ankles down in spite of my required steel toes work boots. I was in shock initially, of course - seeing your feet crushed in front of you can do that to a girl - but after a couple minutes the pain started to bleed in. I had stopped looking at my feet - or what was left of them - at that point. I didn't need to see them to know they were destroyed. Words like 'amputation' hovered at the periphery of my thoughts, but I wouldn't let them in.

By the time the paramedics were there, starting to cut my boots off, the pain was beyond bearable, and they knocked me out. I fell into immediate and blissful unconsciousness, but my last conscious thoughts were a silent 'good bye' to my feet. I just knew... but I didn't really know. Not just yet.

I woke up four days later, an oxygen feed in my nose and my legs elevated and bandaged - I could see immediately there were no feet there. It was hard to tell the specifics with the heavy bandages on, but it looked like my legs ended two or three inches above my former ankles. The first thing that hit me was the harsh slap of reality, that I was now an amputee, that I had no feet any more. the next thing that hit me, in rapid succession, was the itch. I had an itch between my first and second toe on my left foot. But I had no left foot. I looked, I stared, seeing if there was something I was missing, but my legs definitely ended in round, heavily bandaged stumps. The itch I felt was impossible, but very real and very persistent. I decided to go with it and tried to 'wiggle my toes' to try and get it to stop.

My scream pulled in three nurses, the floor doctor, and another doctor who heard me from the elevator. The pain was intense, sharp, like my foot was being broken and crushed all over again, in slow motion. I cried and tried to claw at my bandages to relieve the pain, to the point where I had to be physically restrained. the gave me a shot of something, but it didn't help, the pain was too intense. They gave me another shot, directly into my stump, saying it was just 'phantom pain' and that it wasn't really there, but still I screamed and cried. Finally, someone gave me something that knocked me out, and again I was blissfully unconscious.

It was severe, chronic phantom pain, that how it was explained to me, and it should 'get better with time' and with therapy. Until then, they had me on a cocktail of painkillers and muscle relaxers that made me loopy and sick to my stomach and had the lovely side effect of making me piss myself once in a while. I was barely coherent when they took my bandages off and I saw my stumps for the first time. I thought they looked pretty - but then again, I was pretty stoned. Even through my haze of painkillers, though, as they touched and cleaned and measured my stumps the white hot pain started bubbling up to the surface of my consciousness. By the time they got the new, thinner bandages onto my rounded stumps I was hyperventilating, feeling my phantom feet twist and fold and snap and burn. I was crying and begging them to knock me out as I felt the pain building to it's crescendo, and once they got an OK from my doctor, they blessedly obliged.

They fitted me for my prostheses, and again even though I was heavily drugged I barely made it through the process. I didn't know how I was going to walk or wear prostheses if every time anything more than a linen sheet touched my stumps they began to hurt at unbearable levels. I was poked and prodded so much, by every specialist in the hospital and beyond, and the general consensus was still just the generic 'phantom limb pain' or my favorite - 'extreme phantom discomfort'. I had a 'discomfort' in mind for them that involved an aluminum softball bat and a rectal exam...

Weeks went by. Then a month. Rehab started. Still, I was drugged to near unconsciousness and still I was dealing with bouts of pain that literally crippled me. Then I met Cathy. My roommate in rehab, she was a quadriplegic from a cycling accident. She had no sensation from her nipples down. In my painkiller-induced haze, I got the beginnings of an idea - just deaden all those nerves that were misfiring, causing all my phantom pain.

I talked to nurses, doctors, but they all said no, it wasn't possible to just deaden those nerves causing my pain. The technology wasn't advanced enough, it was too dangerous they said. Meanwhile I was becoming a junkie and even the huge doses of painkillers I was already taking weren't really cutting it any more. So what else could I do?

I couldn't find anyone to help me willingly, but as I was about to give up I got a lucky break. Without going into details, I took advantage of a desperately overworked medical intern and a mixup in injectible medications. It hurt like hell, even through the painkillers, but after five minutes I knew it had worked. After the terrified intern helped me off the exam table and back into the heavy hospital wheelchair, I told him I had never seen him, had no idea what had happened, and the next morning would suddenly wake up like this... that was my plan anyway...

Things never go quite as planned, of course. Trying to get back into my bed, I was way off balance, my floppy lifeless stumps just a weird dead weight that made it very difficult for me to maneuver myself. I almost made it into bed when I slipped, hitting the floor with a thud, and one of the nurses came running. It was obvious that I was paralyzed, and as soon as the doctors examined me it was obvious why. There's still an ongoing investigation on how I could have gotten that injection, though I keep telling them I did it myself. The important thing is that I am now pain free and medication free. I can't feel or move a thing from my belly down, of course. I'm incontinent, I have no sexual feeling, and I'll be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life. But, I'm not in pain - none at all. And personally, I think that's an OK compromise.

NEW Story - The Broken Rule

The Broken Rule

First rule of being a caregiver is to never get emotionally involved. Not that you shouldn't care, of course - you have to care, you have to feel something for the people you work with. But emotional attachment, that's a different story. That's just bad karma, for so many reasons. Not just romantic involvement either. You can't become 'best friends' with your charge. Even if they're the coolest, most awesome person ever, that level of relationship never goes well. I knew this, had known it for years. Like I said, it was the first rule, the most important rule - and it took me almost ten years to break it.

My first charge was a great guy, elderly, had a serious stroke, hemiplegic. I worked with him for almost five years, and I started working with him two weeks before graduation, thanks to agency placement and an early look at my grades (all top marks). He passed away in his sleep, while another caregiver was with him. I got the message form the agency that morning, before I headed in to his apartment. I shed some tears - he was a very nice man, had a loving family - but I was back at work the next day. No big deal. No attachment.

My second charge was an old woman with ALS. We never connected, and I took care of her for three years, afternoon shift. Sat and made sure she could see her game shows, changed her diapers. Surfed the web thanks to a purse-sized Netbook and her neighbor's unsecured wi-fi. That was two years.

Rebecca was next, after a few short-lived hospice stints. She was a sad case, twelve years old, quadriplegic due to a seriously abusive father. Her mom was blind, too - same reason. Fucking sick bastard. There were more than a few nights I went home in tears from that one, I'll admit, and though I did become friends with Becky's mom and we still talked on the phone from time to time, I didn't feel that I had ever broken that golden rule. I stayed with Becky for a little over three years, until they had to move to Arizona for some health reasons. Becky had really blossomed, though, in the years I knew her, and was looking forward to high school and maybe even driving some day, with some specially adapted equipment.

Then came Meghan. I have to say, even though I took great pride in my work, I took it all very seriously, and I held that first rule pretty much sacred, I knew I was in trouble on my first day.

How do I describe Meghan? She was ten years my junior, she had just turned nineteen, and was taking a hear off before college. She was severely disabled, of course - that's why she needed a caregiver. She was born without arms - she had smooth shoulders the just ended. Rare birth defect, nobody saw it coming, but her family was able to cope with it. She was learning to use her legs and feet for arms and hands, standard rehab stuff, from a very early age, when the second half of God's 1-2 punch hit her.

Her neighbors were very 'global village' kinds of people and, when Meghan was only ten, they had an exchange student from India visit for half a school year. Meghan was very friendly and outgoing, of course, and became friends with the student, Priyesh, who was four or five years older than Meghan, but was very nice and very friendly as well. The pair hung out a number of times, went swimming together - had typical 'school friends' contact for a few months. Then Meghan started to feel sick. Then Meghan couldn't use her feet to pick things up any more. Then Meghan woke up unable to move her legs at all. Not even wiggle a toe.

It didn't take long for the doctors to narrow things down and diagnose Meghan with polio. Priyesh's paperwork turned out to have some 'inaccuracies' in it, and he was indeed carrying the polio virus. Meghan had contracted the disease, along with one other girl in Priyesh's class. It was quite the scandal, apparently, though I didn't remember anything in the papers about it.

That had been nine years previous and had permanently confined Meghan to a mouth-controlled wheelchair. It hadn't damped her spirit, however - in truth, it had probably caused her inner light to shine all the more brightly, because that's just how Meghan was.

When I met her, she was wearing a smart skirt, nude stockings on her wasted, polio-crippled legs, and a grey long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves hanging empty at her shoulders. She sat in a fancy power wheelchair, her mouth stick at the ready, and she smiled this glowing, beacon-like smile that took me off guard. I'd worked with dozens of critically ill and severely disabled clients over the years, and Meghan was the first, the absolute first, who did not show the slightest hint of the inner bitterness and negativity that comes with having a condition that required, well... me.

I introduced myself and got a rundown from Rob, the caregiver I was taking over for. He was getting married and moving to Nebraska or something, but you could tell there was a bond between he and Meghan that went somewhat beyond that of caregiver and patient. I mentally chastised Rob for breaking the first rule, but in my heart, after just meeting Meghan, I could almost understand.

I pushed that out of my mind. For a little while, anyway.

"So, am I your most pathetic case?" Meghan asked cheerfully after Rob had left and I started about my routine. The question caught me off guard, more for her characterizing herself as 'pathetic' than anything else.

"Actually, you're in second place." I said honestly, still trying to keep my professional distance while at the same time being friendly and approachable.

"Oooh, really? Tell me about it!" she asked, using her mouth control to turn in my direction, her face full of curiosity and excitement.

"Young girl." I said, stopping what I was doing. "Twelve when I met her. Her dad threw her against the wall for changing the channel on the TV. Broke her neck." I swallowed. Becky was still a hard one for me. "Her mom tried to call 911 to get her help. He tore the phone out of the wall, beat her in the face with it. Blinded her, both eyes."

"Jesus." Meghan said, eyes wide.

"I know. Sorry - probably shouldn't have gone into so much detail." I said, genuinely sorry for having said so much. Instead of horror, though, Meghan beamed. I looked at her. "Something funny?" I asked at the smile on her face.

"sorry, I feel terrible for the girl and her mom, naturally, but this is the first time I've come in second place. I feel almost normal! I need to facebook this!" And she took her mouth control between her lips and moved into another room as I stood there shocked.

And that, in a nutshell, was Meghan. She knew she was terribly crippled. Armless, no hope of prosthetic, polio-crippled legs that had basically stopped growing when she was ten. But she had a beauty about her that was almost supernatural. Her amber hair glowed, her face was gorgeous, her smile was electric. She didn't seem to have a negative bone in her crippled body, and even when she talked about her disability there was no bitterness, no self pity. She was just 'Meghan', and she was disabled in body, but never, ever in spirit.

Looking back now, I think knew that first day that the only outcome for me was to fall in love with Meghan. I didn't even know if she was gay, I wasn't even sure I was gay, but what I did know on that first day was that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. That when we were together, it was like I was lying on a sunny beach, and when I left at the end of the day, it was like my life filled with clouds and rain.

Every day,I'd show up for work a little earlier. Every day, I'd spend an extra few minutes after my relief arrived. I'd help Meghan with her facebook, or just watch a little TV with her, or get takeout Chinese delivered, paying for it out of my own pocket, even though it was against her nutritional plan. Every day, my job became less about 'taking care of Meghan' and more about 'Making Meghan happy.' And then one day, maybe two months into the job, Meghan did it, she crossed the line, and I let her, and I never looked back.

"Elizabeth." she said in her beautiful, sing-song voice.

"Yes, dear?" I asked, having dropped the formality of 'Meghan' or 'Miss Jones' on my second day.

"I'm almost 20, you know." she said matter of factly. She was, it was true. Her birthday was only six or so weeks away. I had already thought about what I would get her.

"Yes - coming up soon. Any thoughts on what you'd like?"

Meghan looked at me with her deep, chocolate brown eyes, and as usual, I started to melt. Then she said it.

"I'd like to lose my virginity. With you." she said simply, but with such deep emotion that all I could do was to move to her wheelchair and hug her, feeling her armless shoulders, smelling her apple-blossom shampoo. And I kissed her.

I have always dreamed of a kiss like that kiss. Not a cliche, romance novel kiss that's all about love and kittens and brass horns. It was loving, it was passionate, it was heartfelt, yes. But more than that this was a kiss straight out of my deepest most erotic fantasy. My guts turned to warm pudding and my pussy felt like it was a waterfall. My knees buckled and I started kissing Meghan's legs, her thighs, and she begged me to do more. Pleaded with me. The lust in her voice was deeper and more sincere that I had ever heard.

I pushed her wheelchair to the bedroom and undressed in front of her. We said nothing. I kissed her, deeply, passionately, running my fingers through her hair. She moaned, she pressed her abbreviated body against mine from her wheelchair. I slipped her soft t-shirt off, she wasn't wearing a bra. I kissed her breasts sensually, I licked and nibbled her nipples, and she moaned.

I knew I would never feel her fingers running through my hair as I kissed her. I knew I would never feel her legs wrapped around me as I held her. I knew that, more than anyone I had ever been with, I wanted Meghan. With every fiber of my being, I wanted her. As crippled and as helpless as she was, I could not imagine living my life without her.

I kissed her armless shoulder, tracing sensual patterns across her smooth skin with my tongue, and she practically whimpered. I moved down her warm, soft body as she sat in her wheelchair, slowly pulling down her cotton skirt, revealing her diaper. The diaper that I had changed dozens of times, never admitting to myself what I wanted to do once I had it off. Now I tore it open just to touch that golden fur that glistened - Meghan was so aroused, it was like a heavy dew had fallen just for me.

Her legs were small, thin, limp from the polio that had crippled her. She couldn't move them at all, not even wiggle a toe; the polio had seen to that. But she could still feel them. Feel every touch, every caress. I slipped her soft socks off of her feet and began to kiss them, to suck on her small toes, like I had fantasized as I lay in bed at night dreaming of her hair, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips. I kissed and licked her feet and she giggle, and then she moaned, and then she begged me to come closer, to move higher up her small, useless legs.

I wanted to tease her - I really did. I wanted her first sexual experience to be long, and sensual, and erotic, and drawn out. I wanted it to be perfect for her, for my perfect crippled angel. But she didn't want that. The need in her eyes, the deep desire in her voice drew me in, and I hadn't even taken her out of her wheelchair when my tongue pressed against the exquisite folds of her moist flower. It was like a lightning strike had hit both of us as I spread her withered legs and licked and sucked on her clit as I poked my tongue into her sweet virgin sex.

Meghan moaned and yelled and screamed as I ate her out, caressing and kissing and licking her pussy, her limp legs. It didn't take long before all that pent up sexual frustration finally broke, and she came, oh my darling Meghan came in waves of orgasm that made her weep, tears of joy and pleasure rolling down her cheeks. She had always tried to think of herself as 'normal', but sex, sensuality, that was something that always eluded her in her armless, crippled state. A fact that I was happy to change for her.

I lay her in bed without her even asking, and I kissed and held her as she smiled, as she thanked me, as she wept. And then I moved myself into a position that made it easy for her to access my dripping wet sex, and without a word she was at me. Her mouth was so talented, it caught me off guard, though it had been her only means of interacting with the world since she was ten - it shouldn't have surprised me as it did. Her tongue and lips made me write in pleasure and moan with delight, and as I caressed her smooth, armless shoulders, I came loudly, explosively, my juices glistening across her beaming face. She didn't want to stop, and I came another three times as she licked and kissed my sensitive clit, before finally collapsing beside her, wrapping my arms around her warm, panting frame.

I could feel her limp, soft legs pressed against my naked skin, I could feel the smooth armless shoulders rub against me. Meghan was helpless, unable to even scratch her nose or use the toilet on her own, but to me she was perfect, she was so beautiful, so sensual, and I told her that, whispered it in her ear as we lay there together. And I told her I loved her. She said nothing. She wept. I knew it wasn't with sadness.

I cleaned Meghan and dressed her and got myself cleaned up a half hour before my shift ended, and my replacement - a very nice older woman named Sarah - immediately knew something had changed. There was an energy, an atmosphere in the place that was so warm and almost electric. As I clocked out of my shift and looked into Meghan's beautiful, loving eyes, I died a little inside as I left for home. I knew I wouldn't be able to do that much longer - to leave her like that. I don't think either of us could handle it.

I showed up for work the next day an hour early carrying an overnight bag, and told Meghan I didn't intend to let her sleep alone again. She asked me to dress her, and instead of her signature long sleeved shirt I dressed her in a pink athletic fit tank top with no bra, exposing her deformity, accentuating her difference, and I loved it. And she saw the way I looked at her, with the love and attraction I felt for her, and she loved it too. It lifted her, it excited her. It made her happy, a happiness that she felt she might never experience in all her life. A happiness I too, knew I had been missing, until this beautiful, sensual, crippled girl came into my life.

We made love again that day, this time a slow, sensual, erotic thing that made us both cry out in passion and delight for hours. We went out to lunch at a local cafe, and Meghan relished the looks and stares of passers by as I fed her a sandwich and iced coffee and we talked and giggled together. Meghan then called the nursing agency and told them that her situation had changed, and that she no longer needed night time care. She looked at me with loving eyes. The situation had certainly changed. The whole world had changed. For both of us.