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Story..."liz, Para Leg

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Liz Para Leg

I was at the Seattle airport with several hours to kill before my flight left. My business meeting with Boeing went well and wound up very early. I was walking around watching people when I spotted her.

A very attractive women, possibly late twenties or early thirties, about 5-10, wearing a light grey business suit was gliding along very gracefully on crutches. She wore a grey, pointed toe, sling back pump on her right foot with maybe a three-inch heel, black stockings; the right was sheer, and the left opaque so that it was not transparent as the right, but it did show every curve of her foot as well as outline her toes She did not wear a shoe on her left foot which appeared to have very little or no movement.

Trying to appear that I was wandering to kill time, I decided to follow this woman and enjoy how she moved on her crutches with grace and ease. My deep empathy for her condition was lessened by the way floated on her crutches, effortlessly; giving the appearance that she had used crutches for some time. At one point, while crossing a large open area, I noticed that the heel strap on her shoe had fallen off of her heel, and it appeared as if she would walk out of her shoe. She took a couple of steps not lifting the shoe but dragging it along and then stopped, looking perplexed, as what to do next.

I approached her from the rear and came along side of her. “You look like you need a hand.”

“Oh, yes, the strap on my shoe slipped down so I’m afraid that I might walk out of it and with only one good leg probably fall.”

“I can fix it for you-- if you want,” I replied, trying not to sound too eager.

“That would be wonderful, if you don’t mind,” she answered.

I bent down on one knee as she leaned toward her left which increased the distance between her legs. I placed my right hand behind her ankle and very carefully slid the back strap back up on to her heel with the left. She had beautiful legs, the left, was just as fully formed as the right, but slightly slimmer, probably from non-use and telling me why she was using crutches.

As I got back up, I said, “That should hold you for a while. If you wish, I can walk with you just in case it slides back down again.”

“Tell you what,” she answered, “why don’t you walk with me to the bar, my treat for your being so kind? I have a couple of hours until my flight leaves.”

“That sounds good, but it is not necessary for you to treat,” I said.

“Don’t worry, I can expense this,” she said. “It sounds trivial - expensing, but I do want to reward your kindness.”

“Well, if you insist, I haven’t walked with a pretty woman yet today,” I said.

She gave a slight smile. “Pretty from the waist up, she said, “but we can continue this conversation over a drink.”

“That’s fine,” I said, “but I still think you are very pretty,” and we headed off to a bar concession that was about fifty yards from where we were standing. Again, she seemed to float effortlessly on her crutches. Her left ankle was bent down slightly so that her toes were only an inch off of the floor. This probably was why she wore a heel, or she thought it was sexy, and it certainly was.

We entered a bar and chose a high table in a corner. I pulled a stool out and turned the seat so that she could climb on.

“Would you hold these?” she said as she handed me her crutches. With one hand on the seat of the stool and the other on the table, she bent her right knee slightly and then hopped up on the stool. During all of this, her left leg hung motionless.

I then leaned her crutches against a vacant stool and sat opposite her. “You do that very well, like you have had a lot of practice.”

“About a year and a half on crutches,” she said. “By the way name is Liz Faranacci.”

A waitress took our drink orders and I introduced myself. “Are the crutches permanent?”

“No, at least I hope not,”

Liz then went on to tell me how she was riding a motorcycle while going through a gentle left turn, a car from the other direction crossed the centerline and struck her exactly on her left leg. She then swerved toward a car on her right and instinctively tried to avoid it by holding out her right foot. The cycle did contact the car on the right, but her foot did. She then she bounced off and went again into the oncoming traffic where she was struck again, in the left leg.

“My left leg was shattered, and my right ankle was broken in two places,” she said. “I had some hip and pelvic damage as well along with some bangs and bruises. At first, the doctors wanted to take my left leg off near the hip, but we agreed to at least try to rebuild it for now. They then took me to surgery, and when I woke up, both legs were casted from toe to top, the cast extended up and then it circled me from hip to breast.”

“You poor dear,” I blurted out, and then I wished that I hadn’t said that because of what she was to say next.

“I still have the leg,” Liz went on, “if we can only get it to work. I just got out of a full-length cast two weeks ago, but there is paralysis from a nerve disorder and the muscles have atrophied from being casted for over a year. I have a brace that will allow me to walk without bearing weight on the leg, but, because I cannot move the leg at all, it is of no use. I am doing some heavy therapy, which hopefully will get me walking again. I got used to crutches, and since they are faster than what I can do with the brace, I like to use them. Besides, I like to wear high heels, always have, and with the way my leg hangs down, a heel is a necessity to keep my toes from contacting the floor.”

“I give you a lot of credit,” I said. “How long were you in the double casts, unless you are not comfortable talking about it.”

“Not at all,” Liz said, “the worst is behind me now. I had the two casts for two months. They took all of that off and did surgery on the left leg and then put it in a full length cast again. My right leg was good, and I did therapy to regain the strength in it. But for now, my crutches are my best buddies and I do live a mostly normal life except that there are some things that I can’t do, like carry a cup of coffee, or be more than an arm’s length from my crutches.”

I was greatly saddened by Liz’s situation. But outwardly she appeared to be handling it well.

Liz went on to tell me that she was a sales rep for SuperFem, a company that makes a full line of women’s toiletries and cosmetics, and a limited line of women’s upscale apparel that is ultra feminine. She traveled a fair amount, but mostly out and back in the same day. “The crutches make it somewhat difficult handling an overnight bag, like on this trip. I always need to find someone to assist starting with taking my bag from my apartment and into my car. I don’t minding tipping, but at times it is a hassle.”

“I’m sure that you use your employer’s cosmetics, they must be very good.

And you are very striking.” Suddenly, my empathy for Liz peaked again as I thought about this pretty lady standing somewhere on her crutches looking for someone to handle her bag. I just did not seem right.

“Thank you. I do use them. In fact, when I had my accident we were in the end of a development program for foot care. I tested a moisturizing cream on my casted toes to see how it would help the skin from drying out.”

“How did it do?” I asked.

“Fabulous,” Liz exclaimed. “In fact, I used to wear a sock over the end of my cast, covering my toes while I was working, but when the president of the company saw how good the skin was, he suggested that I not wear a sock to show off my sexy toes and wear a sandal on my good foot. I had several surgeries after that, each time being put back in a full length cast with crutches. Since I love to wear heels, only those that are feminine and not clunky, I have been assigned to a project to possibly expand into women’s shoes, sexy and feminine. And the president wants to name the line ‘Faranacci,’ in my honor.”

“Well,” I said, “the entire line, like you must not only be ultra feminine, but very, ultra pretty.”

“Sure! Pretty!” Liz responded. “With these crutches on either side of me.”

I had hit a sensitive area and realized what Liz had meant about “pretty from the waist up,” and thought quickly how to answer and possibly keep Liz from getting down about her situation. “The next time you are at the mall or other commercial area, take a look at your reflection in the window. Watch how you float effortlessly on your crutches, easily and with grace much like a ballerina, or an Olympian figure skater”

Liz looked at me, then to her crutches, paused and returned her gaze to me. “Okay, so I move about easily. But what about this leg just hanging down, lifeless, and along for the ride?”

“Consider the beauty of the female foot,” I quickly shot back, pleased that I could come up with a response so quickly. “Think about open-toe pumps and sandals that reveal the beauty of not only your foot, but also your toes.”

“But those toes are not visible.”

“They are not. You are correct. But, the outline - the curves and contours of your foot and leg are clearly defined along with the outline of your toes. That is beauty.”

“I can see that there is no use arguing this with you because you make a lot of sense,” Liz finally conceded. “I wish that we could have had this conversation a year or so earlier. I would have felt better about the entire situation.”

I understood how Liz could have a depressed feeling of self worth, but possibly my reasoning was causing her to rise with the tide of my rationale.

I could not resist the opportunity to ask. “Why do you wear an opaque stocking on your left leg? Would you not want to show your pretty toes?”

“That’s a good question,” Liz said. “The toes are still very nice, but the leg has some scars that eventually will lose prominence and there is some discoloration, so it is best that it not be seen for now.”

“That was a cruel question, I am sorry that I asked it,” I said.

Liz went on. “It is not a problem, you are curious, and that is cute. I do not mind talking about any of this, so don’t feel bad. Like I said, I still have the leg.”

Our glasses were empty when the waitress came by. “Bring my friend another Martini, and I’ll have club soda so that I can maneuver on my crutches.”

Lucky for me, the tabletop was glass, and I could see both legs. Liz lifted her left leg onto a stool opposite her, and then crossed her right leg over. She flexed her ankle a couple of times and the heel strap on the shoe came down causing her shoe to dangle or hang off of her toes. I had all I could do to control my excitement of this gorgeous sight. She knew that I was enjoying the show and gave me an impish grin.

We talked about things in general for a few minutes as she continued to flex her ankle until her shoe fell off, giving sight to what I considered a very attractive female foot and gorgeous toes.

“I’ll get it for you,” I said, referring to her shoe.

“Leave it be for now. I….think….that you are enjoying the show,” Liz said. “And to be honest, I am enjoying that. There are times when this situation does get me down.”

I took Liz’s hand in mine. “I wish that I could help. In just the short time that we have been together I know that you are a very fine – and pretty lady; someone that I would like to know better.”

Liz said that she was in Seattle on business and returning to her home in Chicago.

“No kidding!” I exclaimed. So am I.” Her flight was on Prairie State Express to Midway, and mine was on TransContinent a little later to O’Hare.

We spent the better part of an hour discussing things in general. I told her about myself and what I did while exercising all of the will power within me to focus on her and not her shoeless foot, alluring in its sheer, black enclosure, and the bright red polish on her toes visible, as a beacon, beckoning me to attend to them. Liz realized this which pleased me. My thinking was that it was good for not only her ego, but I knew that her general feeling toward her situation was negative, but could be improved.

I walked Liz to her departure gate feeling so badly about her situation but at the same time relieved that she was handling it so well. But was she?

The agent at the boarding gate handed Liz her boarding pass. “I have upgraded you to first class, Miss Faranacci and we are just beginning early boarding.” The agent then looked to me, “and are you accompanying Miss Faranacci, Sir?”

“No, he is on another airline, but I would appreciate if he could assist me in boarding,” Liz quickly answered.

Halfway down the jetbridge, Liz looked toward me, “Really, I can do this myself, but your company for a few more minutes is very nice.”

The senior flight attendant took Liz’s crutches as Liz settled into seat one-A, first row, window. “I can’t begin to thank you enough for all of your help,” Liz said as she reached her hands out to me. I bent over and she kissed me on the cheek. “And your attention to my leg problem makes me feel better about the entire situation. You are a very special person, Bill”

Just as we were about to part company, Liz reached into her pocket and handed me her business card. “I would love to hear from you,” she said with what looked like a tear forming in her deep brown eyes.

As I walked back up the jetbridge to the terminal, I suddenly had a very empty feeling, just as a kid does on his first day of summer camp. I had known Liz for only two hours or so, but I knew that I wanted to see her again. It was not only from my original attraction to her physical situation, but I also was very impressed by the person within.


Here I am at 37,000 feet, blankly watching America pass by below me. My good right leg is curled up beneath me while my crippled left foot is resting on the floor ahead, my right shoe lying alongside. Often, I wonder how long until I can again wear both shoes, if at all.

And then there is Bill. I know that my appearance originally attracted him to me, but in the time that we spent together, I feel that there is more than what appears on the surface. I have to admit that when he handled my ankle while repositioning the strap on my shoe – his touch sent waves of arousal down to my toes. His touch was gentle, yet firm in its purpose. And later when he could not take his eyes off of my foot after dropping my shoe, my attraction toward him peaked. I caught him looking and he was honest about enjoying the show. I told him that I also was enjoying it, but my enjoyment was more the beginning of a strong infatuation.

I opened the door to instituting a relationship. I hope he walks through and we then walk together through more doors, and without regard to my having one or two good legs.

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