I woke up groggily on a crisp Sunday morning. The moments just after waking up when the nightmares of the night before fade away and real life comes rolling in are some of the best. Partly because I know that I am not actually a 30-year-old woman who has just re-enrolled in high school, having missed her fifth calculus class in a row. But most importantly, my waking life is better than any I’ve ever imagined.

I roll sideways in my bed so that I can reach my arms past the headboard, stretching my arms and shoulders as faaaarrrrr as they will go. The overwhelming sensation of stretching and the following relief of my arm muscles, shoulders and abs almost puts me back to sleep. For a few minutes, I lie motionless, aware. Without moving a muscle I take account of my body. I can feel the energy slowly flowing through. From the tips of my fingers, through my neck, and down my spine I can feel the tingling force of life flow through me. It continues through my hips and down the full length of my legs, out through the tips of my toes. I stay completely motionless, silently in awe of the mysterious ways my body works. It likes to play fun games with me and I know how to use them to my advantage.

Slowly I lift my arms and look at them, appreciating the beauty and mystery that comes from their human complexity. I flex my fingers individually and thank each one for their existence and service to my happiness.

I gently turn my head side to side, taking deep breaths. A grateful smile spreads across my face as I appreciate the support of my organs, and the sensational service of my nose, mouth, ears, eyes, and skin.

Flexing my abdominals and lifting my hips off the bed allows me to appreciate the life-giving force of my reproductive system, and the steady base of my wide hips.

I take a pause before appreciating my legs, both of which still exist as the tingling energetic sensation that details every bit of them, from the tops of my thighs to the tips of my toes. I stretch my legs as far as they will go, straightening my ankles and toes, flexing my toned and heavy thigh muscles that gave me such strength during high school track club so many years ago.

The tingling sensation remains and I notice they start to feel heavy. The signals I sent them to stretch are met with deaf ears and I receive no feedback. I smile.

Using my arms I prop myself up in bed to look down at my legs. The thick comforter wrapped around my hips hides from sight what lays beyond. I lay back down, staring at the ceiling as I gingerly caress my flat stomach, slowly making my way down the front and side of my hips. Level with my mound, which marks the bottom-most point of my hips, my thighs also bend under and around my bottom. The soft flesh of my ass stretches across the entire expanse of what marks my lowest point. I caress its shape, not so hard as to squish any of the flesh. My legless hips are two thick fleshy orbs marked by my cute pussy, right between them. The only other interruption is the long, almost completely invisible scar that connects the flesh from the front of my upper thigh to the back.

I am coming to terms with my own autosexuality. Since I was a little girl, anyone I would see as attractive, I would immediately place my imagination into their body. I could feel what I saw they were feeling at that moment. I could feel the comfort and coolness of the clothes they were wearing, and I could feel the overwhelming sexual energy that I was convinced was running through their body. The concept lost me a relationship in the past when I told my partner that I wanted to live inside their skin. They were a bit too freaked out, but to me, it was the ultimate expression of love–I literally wanted to be them!

The trouble is, I am a devotee–I am strongly attracted to people missing limbs. Over time I realized that whenever I would find myself attracted to images of women or men missing body parts online, I would of course place my imagination inside their bodies and attempt to experience what life must be like from their own perspective. I would get off on the challenges they must face and wish it was me. I would pass out from the orgasms that come from trying to visualize what an arm or leg stump would feel like, not only from touching it as an observer but from the inside–to be its owner. It somehow felt right to me that missing one or more limbs was just better than any other configuration.

Over time I met more people online, some just like me, and some who had actually gone through the process of amputation of one or more of their limbs. Typically these friends of mine would be missing part or most of a leg, some fingers, or an entire hand. None, however, were missing what I craved most: I wanted both my legs completely removed.

I took the time to find those online who shared my desire to lose both of their legs completely. It felt so freeing to finally understand that my desire to become incomplete was not the insane desire of a madwoman. I was not alone and I had others to support me.

It took a ton of careful planning and caution to find a surgeon who would be willing to perform disarticulations of both my legs but once the procedure was planned, and money paid, I knew there was no going back. I even set up a “legs bucket list” where I went hiking, played soccer, even learned a few swimming techniques, just to say I did it. I’ve always been someone who enjoys the quality over quantity of an experience, so I was greatly appreciative for the opportunity to do most of the things on my bucket list just once.

At this point, I was rubbing myself and was halfway to orgasm. The simple touch of my sensitive nipples sent waves down my body directly to my pussy and the tangled nerves within the flesh that filled out my empty hips. The nerve bundles that remained from the amputation of my legs were every bit as sensitive as my clit at this point. It took a lot of practice, meditation, and maintenance to ensure that the rewiring of my brain would assign my stumps as erogenous zones, but the work was ten times worth the effort. For hours I could edge myself to the edge of orgasm simply by massaging my round stumps. I did just that this morning and found myself right at the brink for just over an hour. All I had to do now was simply touch a part of my hips that I never would have if I still had my legs. The miscalculation in my brain would trigger a wave of sexual energy so strong that I would lose consciousness for about a second.

With a soft blow of my nipple and a single tap of my clit, I fell into an orgasmic abyss. My vision went dark and the only sound I could hear was the distorted sound of my own screams. The feeling of gratefulness toward who or whatever gave me the opportunity to have such an experience, and to have a body that could facilitate such experiences was overwhelming. My entire body, a subconscious representation from an outdated body map that still included legs, tingled at every little spot. When I finally came out from my journey that was literally just cumming from my own leglessness, I felt like I had been out for weeks. For a second I didn’t know where I was.

Now, here I am, finally sitting upright, obsessively conscious of the way I now use my body to accommodate my lack of lower limbs. Each automatic spasm of my abs with the intent to keep myself balanced sends shivers through my body, and again, through my now non-existent legs and toes. It never takes long before I need to lay back down again and take a masturbation break. Thank God I'm so close to the ground now and I can get it done almost anywhere!