A stranger life..

From the abysses of the early 2000's

Millie Hartford was a lively blonde, with a nice job in an art gallery that she gained through a combination of work, talent for creating stories and handle problematic personalities,  perseverance and - why not - sex appeal.

Although she tends to dismiss it, it helped her career - and why should she be ashamed of it?

Looking good, in our society, requires its share of work too - work out and dieting

Her hard work has earned her what she used to think it was a perfect life... a brand new BMW coupé,  a modern flat full of design furniture, a cleaning service for the house twice a week, a good looking fiancé,  full of money and  somewhat easy to manipulate.

Life couldn't be better... a part a couple of details.

She had never felt what is usually called "an orgasm" - she was grown to believe that  it was only some kind of fairy tale, by a mother that never felt it in her own life.

She couldn't stand her  neighbour, Mr Anderson... he looked like some kind of creepy red-neck out of an horror movie, unkempt, almost never going out of his flat.

If the guy had only had the good taste of moving away, leaving the flat in front of hers to some nicer person - a professional something - she could be as happy as humanly possible.


Joe Panouchki raised his imposing girth from "Wendy's Delicacies Inn" table, his second serving of bacon and omelette rightfully vanquished and vanished into his capacious belly.

Joe hasn't always been such a compulsive eater... until some eight years ago, he was in fact a lean and wiry guy, very happily married with his high-school sweetheart,  Linda.

Linda wasn't a promo queen, nor a geek or any other kind of prominent high/school demographics.

She was an average looking girl, with a bright smile and enough cheerfulness to lighten-up even her husband's worse days, and that was all that mattered to Joe.

With Linda, Joe managed to forget his depressive streak and built a decent life for the two of them, by taking up a truck driver's job and hauling his ass off every day.

She kept him happy, fed him salads and fruits and a lot of yogurts, and made a better man of him than he ever thought he could be.

And then, at 29, she died of an aortic dissection and left Joe alone.

In the years since Linda died, Joe has gained fifty kilograms.

The food is his only consolation, the only thing that fills - for some minutes at least - the hole that he still feels inside.

He is known at Wendy's as a good customer - a good eater, he is not stingy with the tips nor he is any serious in his flirtatious jokes, and the waitresses appreciate his good nature, when he pass by, on average once a week.

Joe returns to his loyal 18wheeler, as  always somewhat bemused by how Lara, the youngest waitress in Wendy's, manage to exchange banters with him over who drives better a truck.


Fifteen years younger and half his weight, she could probably drive a modern all-servo truck, but Joe had its doubt on some older machines out there.

Scrolling his head, Joe placed the first low gear and started... he had a good four hours more of drive in front of him, and two weeks, this time, before his schedule would bring him back into Wendy's area.

So he had overeaten a bit -Wendy's was, maybe, the best restaurant in his route.

He asked Linda to forgive him for his flirtations with a kiss on index and middle finger then deposited on her photo in the cockpit, and accelerated his 22 tons semi-trailer toward the big city.

He was moderately late, but there was no reason to speed above the legal limit, so Joe set the speed on his truck cruise control a couple of mph below the limit, and prepared himself for a nice relaxed run.

Three hours after, an idiot in a pick-up in front of Joe lost a badly secured sheet of metal from his trunk,  that flew into Joe's cabin at 50 mph, killing him just mere minutes away from where he usually disengaged the cruise control.

 - No, I am not going to relate anything on the guy in the pick-up... he was just a cheery idiot who failed to evaluate correctly the effect of wind on his cargo. For the rest, he isn't even half as interesting as Joe; he has no lost love tormenting his guts, no salacious waitresses with maternal instincts waits for him to trade jokes, no ghosts half-seen in a winter dusk on the road

And just half km away from where Millie was bottled in a traffic jam, on a lane in the opposite direction, feeling pissed for the jam and for the kids in the old wagon on front of her.

Mainly for the little miscreant that kept making grimaces in the back window of the big Buick.

No dead man switch stopped the 22 tons of metal from jumping lane, just some 15 meters in front of Mildred.

Like in a bad movie, Millie saw the twenty years old Roadmaster in front of her folding under the momentum of the big truck, the front of his own car crashed by the big wagon's back, her seatbelt locking while the airbag refused to act - because the car was on a stop and airbags deactivates below a certain speed.

All was happening with an absurd clarity, in a slow motion as painful as useless.

Millie finally saw confusedly the little girl flying back inside the car, the truck's tractor rising above her and crash on top of her Bimmer, and then she awoke in an hospital.

Her face was covered in bandage, her left arm had been on the door, where she had it lying  when the truck huge tire smashed sideways through the half open glass..

Her right arm, too, had suffered minor damages, as she had raised it to protect her face.

Later on, Millie had to know one of the most troubling developments of the modern world... antibiotics-resistant bacteria.

Unable to keep under control infections in the arms by normal means, her physicians were forced to amputate her left arm first, and later her right hand.

And again some more of her left arm, days latter, finally shortening it above the elbow.

She had been lucky, if that is the word, in that the compression damages to her face didn't open her skin... an infection there would have been really a mess. But that meant that the physicians didn't dare to operate to fix her left cheek fracture, so her face healed to look somewhat crooked.

 But other cuts on her body got infected, and the ineffective treatments the phisicians were forced to use left her with some horrible scars.

Her fiancé stood by her side, through all of this, bravely. Maybe too bravely, like he was forced to do so by his sense of honour - at times, she had that impression and it was one hell of a feeling.

One day she was finally allowed to go home, to learn how to live her new life... which had become quite different from her dreams.

The museum had found  a new spoke-person, in the months during which she had been unable to work.

They didn't fire her, but she was "kicked upstairs" to a new position as International Program assistant director; one where she wouldn't have to interact with the general public on a regular basis.

She wasn't sure if it was deference for what had happened to her, or a way to avoid the  embarrassment.

Even a modern art museum prefer to have a public face that doesn't look like an early cubist  phase Picasso.

The same could be said of her fiancé... now that she was  out of the hospital, he couldn't avoid it anymore. Sexually speaking, he felt horror at the idea of lying with her.

He managed to find time and again an excuse to avoid sharing her intimacy, and she realized that she didn't really care.

That she never really cared, maybe.

They drifted away, bit by bit, till she discovered that he had anew fiancée, a blonde bomb, smart and witty.

Like her was, before the accident... with two hands and a face that doesn't subtly remind a Dalí's clock.

She hated him, and dedicated her energies into learning how to use her legs and feet to handle her daily routine, with the help of a phisiotherapist and  yoga instructor... and kept herself reasonably busy living.

She is also trying to learn how to handle the new shyness of men around her - even those that are not disgusted seems unable to overcome their sense of... pity? That was way worse than her fiancé lingering disgust.

She felt not need for anyone's pity; She only needed her job, and her home.

Or, at least, so she told herself, out loud.

In all this, Millie lost track of a transformation in her creepy neighbour... he wasn't acting so creepy any more.

Mr Anderson managed often to be at his door when  Millie arrived, offered to help her open the door, pick her mail up... which were all - kind of - things you can expect out of a good neighbour, given the situation.

 But mr. Anderson, Josh, didn't give off any feeling of pity or of social obligation., and it was so damn refreshing for Mildred.

He was grooming herself, way more than she ever saw him do in the three years they had been neighbours.

 If it wasn't absurd, she could have swore that NOW he was interested in her... anyway, in the initial couple of months back at home, she grow used to rely on the shy, slightly social phobic RPG writer, to the point that she gave him a copy of her keys - in case anything happened.

 She had resisted any suggestion of restructuring her flat, on the reasoning that she would have been soon able to move as well as before. She forgot, or wanted to ignore, that even persons with both arms helping them keep their balance manage to slip on wet floors... one morning, coming out of her bath-tub, she fell back and landed on her ass.

 She stood there, unable to raise herself, scared at the idea that she could have broken her hip, the shock giving free rein to the anguish and grieve she had kept bottled till that moment.

 By the time Josh managed to open her flat's door, she had moved from screaming to a sorrowful wail,  sitting naked and wet in the middle of the bathroom, crying her misfortunes out.

 He gave her a long, warm hug and, after she refused to call an ambulance - she didn't want to feed more pity from the other tenants and, now that thw shock was wearing off, she realized everything was aching but probably nothing was broken, she helped her got on her feet.

She felt it, while hey were clumsily getting her back in her feet.

He was having an hard-on... missing limbs, and scars, and her irregular cheeks, really excited him

It had been months, since the last time she has been with a man. Even if she pretended that it wasn't an issue, thinking that she wasn't able to excite a man any-more had been a hole in the middle of her sense of self-worth. She felt - flattered? And his embarrassment at being caught was cute.

To make it short, he was horny, she really needed it - by the time they managed to rationally understand what was happening, they were in bed, where he ate, teased and fingered her into her first orgasm.

Needless to say, it was a discovery that changed many things in her life.

She wasn't stunning as she used to be, but she was still a woman, and now she had a simple but fulfilling stream of compact happiness flowing in her life.
 

Over time, Josh opened up and confided her his many odd tastes and small fetishes.


Millie  realized that, had he done so before, she would have ran away and maybe even called the police. But, she knew he loved her, and was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was a creepy, horny nerd - her horny nerd.


So she accepted to experiment, try new things outside of her comfort zone. Some were just make-believe, Role Playing by another name..


Others were more serious stuff... she enjoyed almost every thing they tried, and the odd sensation of freedom that she felt when her ego subsided into the play.


 Even pain and discomfort proved to ease her off of her current miseries.

Her mood improved, her physical therapy's pace greatly so and with some insurance money she financed a prosthetic hand and arm, that she learnt to use almost as well as she used her real limbs

 All of this was two years ago.

Dressed up, today she looks and feel much like the woman that she was before the accident.
In reality, she is even better - she now has a kind of zen-like way of brushing off small annoyances, by putting them in perspective, that she once lacked, and a newfound ability to delegate without trying yo micromanage everything.


And she is happier than ever, with her companion. They have sex, they play BDSM, she convinced him to go to accompany her to parties and festivals, he convinced her to go to munches and SM meetings.

 Over time they deepened in their play, established some routines and rituals...

When she undress, put her leather harness on, and divest hee prosthetics, she becomes his sex-slave... for a session.

Life is now stranger that she could ever conceive, and much, much happier.