Part One

I’m sitting in my living room. On the floor in front of my couch there are a bunch of rolls of padding and fiber, and a bucket of water. 5 times before this I’ve just started with the padding as soon as the stockinet was over my knee. The temptation is there. The soft feel of the stockinet, overhanging my toes so I can turn it back, tempts me to continue, but I don’t know if I can.

This is the problem. I met a girl, online. It was through an Internet dating service, since I’ve been rather lonely lately. I moved over 400 miles from all my friends, and I’ve been so busy at work I just haven’t been meeting people. Anyway, I’ve met this girl Amy online, and tonight we’re going to meet for the first time, for dinner. We’ve been flirting a lot, both by e-mail and using instant messaging, so I’m hopeful that things will go well. She doesn’t know yet that I’m into casting though, and after one or two relationships where I’ve either never raised it or its gone down badly, I want to find out how she feels about it from the start, and involve her in it.

My plan goes something like this. I turn up to our first date in plaster, feigning an injury. The cause will be something silly, to evoke sympathy. If the date goes badly, the cast comes off like any other weekend adventure. If it goes well, I’ll keep it to term so I can handle seeing her again. After that, when my “injury” is healed, I will tell her I enjoyed the cast (I may even tell her while I’m still in it!) and suggest we “experiment” together.

This plan has felt really good for weeks as I’ve daydreamed about carrying it out, but now I have all sorts of doubts. Firstly, I am concerned about my ability to construct a cast that I can wear for 6 weeks. I mean, I will use crutches for the first 2 or 3 weeks and a cast shoe after that, so it has to be comfortable to walk on. It also has to be “safe” by which I mean it mustn’t constrict the flow of blood to my leg at all. Secondly I don’t know if I can lie well enough to carry this off at work and with my family. Thirdly I’m scared someone will suspect something, which would be a real disaster from my point of view. I guess that the thing I’m most scared of is that I’ll actually really like this girl, but somehow end up building a relationship built on a lie.

I promised myself I wouldn’t bottle out though, so I start to apply padding more carefully than ever before. I like plenty of padding at the edges of the cast, and around my ankle, but a little less in less critical areas so I can feel the hard fiber a little better. Even, no folding. That’s important too.

The casting tape fascinates me also. I’ve never used coloured tape before, because I like the clinical look of the white. I hate dirty white fiber though, so since this (could) be a term cast, I have decided to use navy blue. That will hopefully stay clean looking a little longer. For some reason I disagree with some of the guides for assembling a SLC, and I always start at the toes and work towards the very top with a single layer using the first roll. This ensures that I don’t introduce any folds in the padding.

It’s starting to look good as I apply a roll of narrow tape around the distal end, shaping carefully and folding back the stockinet before the roll is done. I work the ankle with plenty more tape, and take great care moulding the foot so it will be comfortable to walk on, at exactly the right angle. The rest of the tape goes into producing a good solid shaft and top, holding the stockinet there firmly too.

First impressions? It looks good and feels good. I always love the anticipation that I feel from the moment that the tape first goes into the water to the time it finishes fizzing and is ready to walk on, and I sit with my stomach full of butterflies as I wait. It looks like a tidy job, and I’m starting to think of it as a term cast already. Who knows, maybe I’ll have the balls to keep it even if this date doesn’t work out.

I can’t wait any longer so I grab the crutches and lever myself out of the chair. The cast shoe is hidden away, because although this may sound strange I actually want the full experience (minus the injury that is). I want to manage to be completely non-weight-bearing for the first three weeks. It feels great, my ankle completely immobilised, the weight on my leg, the softness combined with the rigidity. Suddenly all my doubts are gone, and I feel good! I call the taxi, and struggle to clear up the wrappers and the tub of water while using crutches, but I manage it in the end. The taxi driver is sympathetic, but to be honest I hardly paid any attention. I’m getting excited about my date!

We are meeting in a pub by the river, and I am there first. At least I assume I am, because everyone there when I arrive is either in a group or nothing like her picture. It’s a pleasant summer evening, so I crutch outside to the picnic tables on the patio, and establish myself there. A waitress offers me a drink, and since I’m not driving (for the next 6 weeks I hope) I order a pint of Spitfire.

My pint arrives, and just as I take my first draught from it I see her. Now, I’m not superficial but this one is a looker, better even than her photograph suggests. She has blue eyes, and blonde hair that sits just about her shoulder. She has a light tan that suggests honey or gold, and is wearing a “little black dress”, strapless. It draws the eye to her firm chest and slim thighs, and could easily be described as slutty on another girl, but on Amy it looks hot, classy. She’s not seen me yet, so I can drink her in for one more second. She’s tall, and this is emphasised by her footwear. Open sandles with a 3” heel and back straps that criss cross from just above her red toenails to her ankle. This chick is hot, and I am disappointed. I fear she may be out of my league.

“Amy?” I call out tentatively. She turns, sees me, and glides over. I rise to meet her, and watch her face closely. “Oh my!” she says, “whatever happened to you?”. “I’ll tell you in a minute” I say, “first I need to do two things. The first is to tell you that you look absolutely stunning, and the second is to offer you a drink.” She thanks me for the compliment, and we exchange small talk while we wait for her drink to arrive. We look straight into each others eyes as we talk, and I sense rather than see her smile, bright white teeth behind bright red lips.

Now that she is sipping her Gin and Tonic, I recount the story of the previous evening, almost believing it myself. I had been into London so see friends, I say, and slipped crossing the bridge over the railway when I got back to my home station. I’d just missed a step slightly and turned my ankle right over, breaking it. “Drunk?”, I say indignantly in response to her query, “certainly not - although the combination of wet steps and a couple of beers may not have helped”. “You ever break anything” I ask casually. She tells me that about 3 years ago she slipped at her graduation ball, and her heel caught in a drain. Broken ankle – same as me. We laugh the laughter of people sharing a common experience, embarrassing and uncomfortable with anyone else but strangely intimate when shared.

Amy suggests staying at the pub for dinner, to save me from having to hobble around, but I will have none of it. “I can manage”, I say, “as long as you’ll catch me if I stumble!”. I feel magnificent crutching evenly along the street with this beauty by my side, I feel everything is perfect.

The restaurant is busy, but we have a reservation and the Maitre de is solicitous on seeing my injury, and we get the next free table. At first we laugh and joke about the inconveniences of crutches and casts, but as time goes by it seems we are talking about anything and everything, getting lost in the conversation. We are so comfortable together that it is hardly real.

We are the last diners left, working our way through a second bottle of wine. The bill is shared and eventually, inevitably, we are forced to leave. The wine has not affected me too much, and I crutch easily to the door with my date. The taxi is waiting, and I am hoping that this is no more than a temporary goodbye I am saying. “I’ve had a really great evening” I tell her inadequately. She asks me what I am doing tomorrow. “Nothing planned” is my reply. She suggests perhaps lunch, then seeing where the wind blows us. I agree unhesitatingly, and we exchange numbers. “I’ll call you around 11” she says. She is standing close to me, I can feel her sensuous warmth. She reaches up just slightly to kiss me softly on the cheek, the first time we’ve touched. I get into the taxi.

At home, I undress carefully, still being faithful to my plan, still not standing on my ‘broken’ ankle. I doze off, enjoying my encased leg and dreaming of Amy.

The following morning I rise at about 10. I shower, carefully keeping my cast outside the shower. Once I am clean, I sit in front of the long mirror in the bedroom and examine my cast carefully from all angles. The fiber is a rich, dark blue and looks like it was carved from a single solid lump of material. I’ve never managed to get fiber so smooth and even before. The padding is still so white that it gleams around my toes and calf in it’s nice even fold. I am now convinced that this will be my first term leg cast, and I need to be convinced that it is perfect. It seems to be. Certainly it is comfortable beyond my wildest dreams, soft, warm and secure around my foot. It’ll do.

The phone rings, it’s Amy. We toss ideas round for a while and finally agree that she will drive over to pick me up, and we’ll take it from there. It’s another pleasant day, so I pick out some navy shorts that almost match my cast, and a blue check shirt with short sleeves. I’m ready.

I hear a car pull up outside, so I mount my crutches once more and look out the window. A black golf convertible is sitting in the road outside, roof down. A blonde head of hair conceals the drivers face from this angle, but as she turns toward me I can see that it’s Amy even with her sunglasses on. She climbs out of the car and starts flowing towards the house. Today she’s wearing a blue summer dress that stops just above the knee, and some heeled sandal with a single broad black strap. She’s re-done all her nail varnish in a pale blue color.

I open the door. “We match” she say immediately, “I thought I’d wear blue to match your cast and clearly you had the same idea”. We both laugh as I lock the door behind me. “Can you manage OK?” she asks as I get one crutch caught in a shrub that I should have cut back months ago. “I’m fine”, I say, and I’m telling the truth. Life has never felt better. I arrange myself comfortably in the passenger seat and Amy climbs in beside me.

“Since we failed to come up with a plan I’ve taken an executive decision”, she says as we drive off, “there’s a picnic in the boot, and I know just the spot for us to eat it”. The spot she had in mind is beautiful; in fact, I didn’t know there were any places so beautiful so near my home. We are sitting on a grassy bank at a bend in the river. It looks almost narrow enough to jump across here, but I strongly suspect that the distance is deceptive. Broad leaf Oak and Chestnut trees provide a little shade, and her skin looks beautiful in the dappled sunlight. The forest on the far side of the river is denser and more tangled in contrast to the leafy glade we are reclining in.

I think I am in love with Amy, if for no other reason than this picnic. Not only is the location sublime, but the food is fantastic also. We have small cheese and ham sandwiches, prawn coleslaw, pork pies, buffet sausages, even a bottle of crisp white wine.

Well fed, we lie back on the grass soaking up the sun. Cautiously her hand moves towards me, and although we both move so gently that the moment of contact is imperceptible, we end up holding hands. “I’m impressed by the blue nail polish” I say. “Do you think I should wear some too?” I am kidding and she knows it, but this is a conversation I want to have. “Nah, it wouldn’t suit you even though it would go well with your plaster”. “Well maybe you should wear the damned plaster then, your toes would look a damn sight cuter than mine sticking out the end!”. “We women will do a lot in the name of vanity” Amy retorts, still appearing amused, “but I’m not breaking my leg again even though my plaster did get me loads of attention!”, “Really?” I say innocently. “Yeah, everyone seemed fascinated by it, and to be honest I was in love with it too - it stopped the pain as soon as they put it on!”. “Yeah, same for me!”.

While we have been talking we have both shifted so we are looking at each other. Her eyes are blue pools and I feel myself falling into them. As before the moment of contact is lost in the gentleness, but now we are kissing, lightly, now more deeply. We pull even closer together, I feel her firm body against mine, her breasts pressing into my chest. I feel her foot brush lightly against my cast as our embrace becomes more passionate, more entangled. I feel her hand move down my back, and across my backside, over my hip, into my groin. It lingers on my erection, and I can’t tell whether she is massaging me or I am just feeling my own throbbing. My heart skips as she undoes the button on my trousers, and slowly lowers the zip. As she starts to stroke my length gently, I touch her pert buttocks through her dress, and I start to pull at its fabric.

She moves away from my grasp, and pushes me onto my back. I am about to apologise for being too forward, when she climbs astride me, pinning my arms flat on the ground above my head. I can now feel her public hair on my cock as she teases me - she’s not wearing underwear. I can feel the sun on one leg, and the warm weight of my cast on the other, and that is a huge turn-on. Skilfully, she leans forward and pulls me into her. She is so wet that I slip in immediately, her bum resting on my balls as she starts to rock. She feels deliciously warm on my sensitive skin. I watch her closely, as she throws her head back, her blonde hair cascading from her shoulders. Her dress reveals the shape of her bust but no more, and I find it incredibly erotic that she is making love to me without me seeing any more of her flesh than I could before.

She lifts her hands off my arms, and I start to reach for her. “No” she says. “I’ll do all the work, I don’t want you breaking anything else”. I am panting heavily, feeling myself ready to explode inside her at any second by holding back franticly to prolong the exquisite experience. She sits upright on me, and her right hand disappears under her dress. Through the fabric I can see her fingers moving on her clit, building up rhythm. I don’t think I have ever been so turned on in my life. I can feel the tension in her body, and it slowly starts to transfer itself into mine. I feel her muscles tense, squeezing me, and she starts to moan harder and harder. As her orgasm deepens she collapses onto my cock, which promptly explodes inside her. It feels like we come together for weeks, but it can only be moments.

She subsides onto me, and we lie hugging in the sun. I can feel myself deflating inside her as we hold each other, until eventually she rolls off and is lying beside me once more. “wow” I say quietly, inviting conversation but not knowing where it will go now. “Yes” she says softly, and we say no more. I am not sure, but one or perhaps even both of us may have dozed off…

Some time later, she kisses my cheek softly, “we should go” she says, “it’s starting to get colder and we can’t have the invalid catching a chill!”. “I’m no invalid” I protest, “I can get around just fine!”. “I know you can, but I want to look after you my poor broken darling!”. “That’s OK with me” I think, but I say nothing.

I crutch back to the car with my soul filled with warmth and affection while Amy collects the remains of the picnic. She catches up with me right as I get to the car, and opens the door. “It looks so easy when you use your crutches” she says to me as I sit, “I am sure I was never that good on them”. “I’m sure you were” I say gallantly, “and besides your figure would look great bouncing along on sticks, try it!”. I pass her the crutches and she kicks off one shoe and takes to them gamely. I was right, she looks fantastic and within a few seconds it’s clear that the knack has come back to her.

“You’re way better at it than me”, I laugh, “and you look so graceful using them that I think you should use them from now on!”. “Wouldn’t we look a sight, if we were both using crutches” she laughs “it would be brilliant, everyone would be looking at us”. “Hell, I get stared at enough as it is, you’re clearly an exhibitionist.”. “Yeah” she blushes, “I suppose I am. In a way enjoyed all the attention I got when I was the plastered one!”. “OK then, I dare you!”. “What?”. “ Next time we go out, you go on crutches too – distract the attention away from me.” “I couldn’t possibly, I mean, I don’t even have any crutches.” “There’s an old peoples shop in town, so I can easily fix that, go on, I dare you. If you do it, my forfeit is to buy you dinner”.

Part Two

“In that case you’re on!”, she says as my heart stop beating, “I like the idea of you and me being the only people who know I’m faking”. “OK”, I manage to stammer out, “How about Monday then?”. “You’re on”.

And so the deal is done. After a wonderful afternoon, at the same time relaxing and intense, we sit in happy silence in Amy’s sports car as we head back to mine. I really can’t believe that tomorrow night Amy will be crutching along next to me, and I have just the place to take her in mind. I wonder what she’ll wear, whether she’ll make up a story, whether she’ll like it. Eventually my good humour puts all worries out of my mind, and I sit back, enjoying the warmth of Amy’s hand stroking my leg occasionally as we drive away from the first hint of red in the sunset.

As we draw near to my house, Amy tells me that she has to get home early this evening as she has a 9am meeting at work. I am slightly disappointed, as I’d hoped she would stay, but that’s OK. We go inside, and I manage to persuade her that she can stay for dinner at least. We order Chinese, as I don’t want to waste our time together cooking. Sitting out on the patio in the warm evening I can’t even begin to imagine greater perfection.

I’m a bad person. I opened a bottle of wine because I wanted a glass, and now the bottle’s gone. Amy has as much as me, so she can’t really drive home now. I could have pointed this out before it was too late, but I have an ulterior motive for not doing so. I never want her to leave. As if by magic another bottle appears and is opened. I hope she won’t notice it was me that got it!

The summery weather is seducing both of us into talk of holidays, lounging on the beach and in swimming pools. I can’t help but try to visualise Amy in her swimwear, and in my now slightly tipsy state I say as much. “I’m a very modest girl”, Amy retorts immediately, “I never wear anything less than boilersuit on the beach”. We both explode in laughter at this, and as the laughter subsides our eyes lock onto each other, still smiling. We haven’t been very physical all evening, it hasn’t seemed necessary. The intimacy has been almost palpable without more than the occasional, casual touch, serving to remind me how smooth, soft, warm, delicious her skin is.

The intimacy is now overtaken in both of us by passion, I pull her in towards me and we kiss deeply for hours and hours. Once again I feel her firm body through her light dress as I hold her, and I cannot help but get aroused. Suddenly she pulls away from me. “Back in a minute” she says. Wow, this is some bird, I think as I watch her glide away from me, her tanned legs looking more gorgeous than ever in the half-light. I look up at the stars as I wait for her to return.

I sense rather than see her when se returns, so quietly has she been moving. Something subliminal makes me turn towards the patio door, and I see her standing there. I see her naked for the first time.

Her body is every bit as magnificent as my previous experiences have suggested. The soft lighting accentuates her golden tan, but I can see that her remark about modesty was not entirely flippant. Her breasts are ivory white, a well-planned line separating the tan from the rest. Dark areola sit atop these pert gems, firm and perfectly formed without the aid of any underwear. I drink her in, my eyes admiring the cascade of hair that frames her face. I know for sure know that blonde is its natural colour, although I had little doubt anyway. A respectable pale area tells me that she doesn’t wear anything so skimpy as a thong on the beach, and a well-trimmed stripe of blonde, fluffy hair disappears invitingly between her legs.

“Come inside” she says, so warmly that time slows as she speaks. I pick up my crutches and haul myself from the patio chair. She turns away from me, and leads me towards the bedroom, her firm bum giving just the faintest hint of a wiggle as her long legs transport her. She leans against the doorframe, arms folded under her breasts, legs crossed. “No clothes allowed in here” she explains, and takes my crutches from me. I pull my t-shirt over my head, and she mmmm’s appreciatively at my six-pack. I undo my shorts, and balancing carefully I pull them down, along with my boxer shorts. I ease both off over my cast, enjoying the rough fiber on my fingers as I do so. As I stand upright again, I can feel her observing my erection with interest.

Amy turns away, and moves over to the bed. I hop into the room as she lies down, legs spreading slightly as she relaxes. “I did all the hard work this afternoon” she says softly, “your turn now”. This is exactly what I wanted to hear. I kneel on the floor at the end of the bed, crossing my casted leg over my good one so I can feel the hard fiber on my good foot. I part her legs, and start kissing her thighs. As I work my way up her leg, I can see that her grooming extends to shaving her lips. Their nudity allows me to see a glisten of moisture on her, suggesting that she is as turned on as I am. Sooner than intended, I feel my tongue pushing her lips apart at the back of her slit, picking up the tang of her wetness as I draw it up her, finally resting on her clitoris. I’ve never really noticed this before, but I can actually feel a pulse in her bud, and god, she tastes so good. I grab my cock and massage myself gently as my tongue flicks over her clitty. Three or four times, and I vary the pattern with a firmer, circular movement, and before I know it she is cumming in my mouth, hard. Pushing herself into my mouth. Quickly I insert my index finger deep into her, flexing it to find her g-spot. I hit the jackpot, and she contracts so tightly around me I fear she’ll break my finger. “Oh god” she moans, as she writes on the bed with my finger in her and my tongue massaging her bud firmly. “Oh god, fuck me now!”.

I need no further bidding. I climb onto the bed, and enter her, pushing into her as deeply as I can. I control myself, withdrawing my cock halfway, and adjusting my angle of entry so I am stimulating her g-spot with my end. Her moaning intensifies again as my short, firm thrusts take effect, and I start licking her firm nipples. “I’m cumming again” she cries as I nibble her gently, and I can’t hold on any longer. I withdraw almost completely, my cock now dripping with her juices. I thrust into her until I can push no further. I withdraw once more, and as I feel my cock completely enveloped once more I explode. I can feel spurt after spurt of hot cum jetting into her as she clamps her legs around my buttocks, heaving me in tighter and tighter. She writes under me as we grind together, both panting and moaning now, until eventually all subsides into a sublime embrace.

Spent, we lie side by side on the bed, holding each other softly and kissing gently. I don’t think we exchange a single word. There’s nothing to say anyway. Eventually, we sleep.

One way or another I’ve made it to the office. I thought that getting on and off the bus would be harder than it actually was, and everyone’s been really nice, helpful. I can’t believe I’m actually sitting here at my desk with my foot in a cast and my crutches propped up next to me. It feels great, and the best bit is that there are still weeks and weeks more of this feeling to come. What if I bore of it? I suppose it will become a drag towards the end, but I’ll still feel a buzz every time I have to reply to the question “so what happened to you then?”.

My good mood this morning can be attributed to more than just the cast though, oh yes. Amy stayed over last night, and her warmth in the bed next to me made sleep all the more delicious. She left at about 7 in the morning, waking me only when she kissed me on the forehead on the way out.

Tonight she’s going to come over again, and we’re going to go for some dinner at a little pub a few villages away that has a great name for food. When we were messing around after our picnic yesterday, I dared her to go out on crutches with me, so we matched. The crazy thing is that she was well up for it, I mean, she actually thought it was a really cool idea. I was completely gob-smacked, I mean, I was really just testing the water, trying to keep it light hearted. Anyway, she’s agreed, so we’ll see how that goes!

My mate Jason has agreed to give me a lift into town at lunchtime, to get some of the crutches with comfort handles to replace my standard pair. This is partly because using crutches continuously for weeks on end is going to hurt like a bastard otherwise, and partly so I have a spare pair. Speaking of Jason, here he is. Time for some new crutches!

Part Three

“So how’s the leg then?” Jason asks as we head out to his car. “Oh, not too bad”, I respond, enjoying the subterfuge. “Actually, it pretty much stopped hurting once they put me in plaster, the crutches are not that comfy on the hands though!”. He expresses sympathy, and although I feel like a bit of a fraud, it’s not that bad is it? After all, the sympathy is for my hands, and they are actually starting to get quite sore where my weight falls onto the crutches. “I broke my wrist once when I was a kid” Jason offers, “same thing, it hurt much less when it was immobilised. That wasn’t made of the same stuff though – and I certainly never got a choice of colours.”.

I remind myself to keep paying attention. From hanging out in the chatroom and the web-boards, I think in terms of “casts” and “fiber” and “SLC”, but these are casting terms, or at best Americanisms. I have to stop myself from using them here or I will attract attention – we have never got beyond calling any form of “cast” a “plaster” in the UK, whatever it’s construction.

“Yeah, apparently it’s some kind of fibreglass, and they have all sorts of colours these days. There was a girl getting plastered at the same time as me in hot pink!”. I enjoy the mental image temporarily. “I figured that blue would keep clean easily thought, you know, I don’t want to be looking scruffy in six weeks!”. Wow, I just committed myself. I suppose I could work around this, but I’m in this for six weeks. The surge of excitement almost makes me dizzy.

Not only is this shop run primarily for old people, it turns out to be run by old people also. The manageress coos over my sympathetically, “Oh, you poor dear, you’ve been in the wars haven’t you!”. “Broken ankle”, I reply with a grin, “a fight with a flight of stairs that I unfortunately lost”. “So what can we do for you then, here have a seat.” I look around the shop and observe crutches and zimmer frames, lifting platforms to get you out of the bath, walking sticks and little shopping trolleys. Their market can’t all be old people though, because there are one or two pretty sporty looking wheelchairs in here. I’ve never tried one before, and I’m not sure if I want to or not. But hypothetically speaking, if I did - well, they’re here waiting for me.

“Well it’s these crutches, they hurt my hands a bit and the guy at the hospital said I should either wrap something around the handles or that I could buy ones that had softer, more comfortable grips.” “I know what you’re after – they’re just the same as the one you have but with a much wider, moulded grip…”. She bustles off into a back room and reappears a minute later carrying a pair of crutches. Playing dumb, I let her adjust them to match the height of my current ones. I rise from the plastic chair and immediately I can feel the difference. I should definitely have invested in these in the first place. The only downside is that you have to get them the right way round as the left and right ones are different. I pull out my wallet and the deal is done.

Jason carries my old crutches back out to the car. “Where to for lunch then?” he asks. “Nowhere with stairs – apart from that it’s up to you!”. We end up in a pub close to the office, and find ourselves a seat in the back. I sit with my casted foot stretched along the bench, and enjoy the sight of my toes sticking out the end of the stockinet. It’s warm and soft, comforting, around my ankle and calf, and it gives me a feeling of well-being.

“What can I get you gentlemen?”. The waitress is attractive. I guess she’s in her early 20s, slim and attractive. She has a wonderfully warm smile, and I find that it’s so infectious I can’t help but smile with her. We order a pint and a steak pie, and Jason disappears to the mens room. While he’s away our drinks arrive. “It’s a real bummer isn’t it” our waitress says gesturing at my fiber encased foot, “been in that long?”. “Only since Friday, silly accident on the stairs at the station.” “I did that about a year ago, caught my foot at a funny angle and broke my ankle”, I nod encouragingly, indicating that I have the same injury. “I tell you, once I was allowed to walk on it I was OK, but I hated the crutches.” For the second time in two days I find myself laughing empathetically with a fellow traveller through life. “Mind you”, she continues with an impish grin, “mine was white and much more decorated than yours – all my friends insisted in writing on it”. Involuntarily my gaze was drawn towards her slim legs, and I could almost visualise myself adding my signature to her collection. She sees Jason returning. “I’d better get on – good luck with your ankle!”.

“Bloody hell”, Jason grins at me, “I can’t leave you alone for 5 minutes and you’re terrorising the womenfolk.” “You’re just jealous! Anyway, she broke her ankle last year and we were just comparing war stories.” “In that case, remind me how you did that again? I might just have to do the same then come back here, she’s hot!”. I smile to myself, if only he knew. Mind you, he’d probably freak out and not talk to me ever again. People seem to get really wierded out by the idea of wearing a recreational cast.

Lunch passes uneventfully, as does the remainder of my afternoon at the office. Jason kindly dropped off my ‘old’ crutches at the house before taking me back to work – just as well because I can’t use 2 sets at once and I don’t have any free hands at the moment! They are sitting just inside the door ready for when Amy gets here. I have thought this through, and I’m not going to push this little “dare”. I’ll mention it with a laugh, and feign surprise if she wants to go through with it. More likely than not though, we’ll just go out for dinner, and that’s actually all that my heart desires right now!

Tonight I have managed to get combat pants on over my cast, and since they’re quite long you can hardly even tell I’m wearing it from some angles. That’s fine with me – I don’t want to appear to be showing off my cast, to arouse any suspicion. Actually, it feels good that I know I’m casted, but that others can’t be sure. In the bathroom, I’m just levering myself up off the throne when I hear a car door slam outside. “Damn”, I think to myself, “ Beautiful, intelligent AND punctual???”. Sure enough Amy is knocking on the door as I crutch across the hall. Opening the door, I am disappointed to find that she’s just wearing a t-shirt, blue jeans and trainers. My hope are raised somewhat by the small holdall that she’s carrying. “I hope it’s OK if I change here” she says with her charming smile. I am about to follow her into the bedroom, but she turns and pushes the door shut. “Just be a minute” I hear her muffled voice say, “you go and have a seat in the lounge”. I feel slightly snubbed, and to be honest discomforted. This isn’t really how I expected the moment to be. I try my best to talk myself out of sulking, and instead spread out with a magazine. Seeing my cast resting on the arm of the couch does a little to cheer me up!

I hear the bedroom door open, but I am still slightly hacked off that I was banned from my own bedroom, especially since there was undoubtedly an entertaining floor show in there. Maybe I’m just a pervert! I don’t look up until I hear what sounds like a crutch… Wow, I think. “Wow” I say lamely. I have been training myself to think before I speak. Now I must start training myself to have thoughts worthy of articulation. Anyway, I digress. Amy is standing in the doorway wearing a tight red jumper and a short navy skirt. Her long legs look fantastic, the right one encased as it is in a knee-length black leather boot with a rather substantial heel. Her left leg wears nothing apart from a length of tubi-grip, stretching from just above her toes to just below the knee. The sound that sounded like a crutch…. was a crutch. One of the two she is currently supporting herself on.

For the second time in about 10 minutes, I am somewhat disconcerted by events. This time though, there is no element of displeasure in my discomfort. “I plan on collecting on that bet!” says Amy finally breaking the silence, “besides, I think this is going to be fun!”. “Ok, lets go!”. Still pretty lame. I am going to have to work on my banter, especially when in shock!

I lock the front door and crutch down the path behind her. She moves effortlessly even with her high heel, and I just catch glimpses of her blue painted toenails as her foot swings from side to side. Sitting in the passenger seat I have an excellent view of her knees as she drives, and I struggle to pay enough attention to the navigation. After one or two minor detours we make it to the restaurant, and Amy parks cheekily right out front. There’s no space marked there, but I guess in our condition no-one will mind! We look at each other, and I place my hand on her warm, smooth knee. We drift in, and fuse in a lingering kiss.

Our waitress is understandably curious about our predicament, and not having discussed it up to this point I let Amy lead. “He fell down some steps and broke his ankle” she explains, and I wiggle my toes at the waitress to confirm this. “And clumsy bastard that he is he nearly fell again getting used to his sticks. I caught him but went over on my ankle and sprained is quite badly!”. I try to look sheepish. “He’s buying me dinner to make up for it though, so perhaps you could fetch us a bottle of Bollinger while we look at the menu?”. The waitress looks for my approval since I have now been identified as the bill-payer, and I nod dumbly. “Whatever the lady want’s” I say trying for chivalry but I suspect appearing merely downtrodden. “I did that playing hockey once” the waitress sympathises with Amy, “hurt like hell, and I kept stubbing my toe when I was on crutches.” “I have a simple solution to that” said Amy, grinning at me. “The heel on this boot keeps my injured foot far enough off the ground that I don’t hit it on anything”. The waitress goes off to get our champagne, looking a little unconvinced as to the wisdom of Amys advice!

We order soup and steaks after a short discussion and the dessert menu is put aside until we see how full we are. The champagne arrives, and we sit leaning in toward each other over the table as we sip it. Amys eyes sparkle as they gaze into mine. “This is fun, I’m loving all the attention already” . “It’s all right for you” I say playfully, “you’re not injured”. “For the purposes of tonight I am”, Amy retorts coyly, “I expect you to look after me just as if I was at any rate”. “And what about me? I have a broken ankle!”. I’m starting to believe myself now, and saying it is heightening my sense of arousal and anticipation even further. “Well we’ll just have to look after each other then.” I think I may enjoy this evening.

Dinner is a triumph, and we can face nothing more than a sorbet for dessert. Amy has to drive so we’ve gone easy on the bubbly, and are almost sober when we crutch back out to the car. Almost. Amy drives carefully out of the restaurant car park, the roof down letting the mild summer air blow through our hair. My directions are more competent this time, until suddenly Amy turns down a small lane that leads to a nature reserve. “Left, I said”. “I know, but it’s too long since we kissed…”. I feel Amys arms snake around my neck, and feel the warmth of her body pressing against mine as our lips meet. My hand wraps around her and clutches her firm buttocks as her tongue explores my mouth, and her hands caress my torso.

Our passion grows, and I let my hand roam, under her jumper at first, touching the smooth warm flesh of her belly. I run my hand down to below her knee, feeling the tubigrip and wishing it were fiber. I start sliding it back up her leg, over her knee, enjoying the firmness of her thigh. As my fingers reach the hemline of her skirt, I am about to lift them to run up over the fabric, but I feel her part her thighs just slightly and I cannot resist the invitation. The inside of her thigh is even warmer than the rest of her skin, and as my hand creeps inexorably upwards I can feel my own arousal building to bursting point. Finally, my fingers meet her wetness, and her thighs spread further to allow my index finger to part her lips. So intense is the passion, the kissing, the exploring, that I hadn’t noticed Amy undoing my trousers, but she now has my attention. She holds the base of my cock and massages it as my index finger finds her clit and starts circling it firmly. “Oh god, tonight has just been soooo kinky, you’re going to make me cum” she whispers in my ear. I press against her even more firmly as she starts to shudder, arching her back. She bites my lip as the orgasm flows through her, finally escaping in a cry of “Yesssss”. I pull my hand away, and lick my finger, as she recovers and leans over me. Still holding the base of my shaft, her mout slips over the end and her warm tongue laps at me. As I feel myself tense, I am suddenly aware once again of my cast, of my encased foot. This thought is enough, and after one final flick from her tongue I start cumming into Amys mouth, pumping jet after jet of hot cum she sucks me off.

As I sit with my casted foot tensed to enjoy the immobility and my orgasm scarcely over, she sits up, does up my shorts and starts the engine. I am still dazed as she turns the car and starts off back towards my house. “Oh god” I say dumbly, “that was amazing”. She turns and smiles at me, “I thought so too. I don’t think I’ve ever done that in a car before, you seem to bring out my naughty side”. “Me? You’re the one who got all dressed up for tonight, complete with a bandage!”. “Yes, well I always have been an exhibitionist, and I can tell you for free that I enjoyed it. I love being the centre of attention”. “if it’s going to cause that much fun, I’ll be encouraging more of it in the future”. “I’m not sure I need encouragement”, Amy winked at me. “Oh dear, my ankle is getting sore now, and tired, I’m going to need a lot of looking after when we get home.” “My angel, I’ll do anything you want.” I say, and I mean it.

To be continued…