The First Discovery

 The room is quiet. The air feels heavy, almost tangible, as I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the contours of my own body. Since the surgery, everything has changed. My leg, once an unquestioned part of me, is no longer there, and yet, its absence seems to create more space—space for new sensations, for new discoveries.

My hand rests on my stomach, just above the place where my leg used to begin. The skin is smooth, the scar tissue feels different from the rest of my body—not less, but strangely more present. The silence is almost deafening, but deep inside, there’s a vibration, an energy I can’t ignore. The thoughts that have been swirling in my mind for some time now are impossible to dismiss. The words I once heard—acrotomophilia—have stuck with me, even when I didn’t fully understand them. The fascination with my new form seems inevitable.

I lower my hand, slowly, as if afraid of what I’ll feel. When my fingers touch the edge of my stump, I close my eyes. It’s soft and, at the same time, powerful. The tissue is sensitive, almost electric, as if the nerves have reprogrammed themselves to feel the world more intensely.

I take a deep breath, and my hand follows the shape of my stump, exploring every curve, every detail. It feels as though I’m getting to know myself all over again, as if this body now holds a new secret, a new strength. The sensations flowing through me are unexpected, stronger than I had imagined. It’s not just the physical sensation, but the mental realization—that this is now part of me, something others may want to touch, to admire, to desire.

Somewhere deep in my thoughts, an image appears. Someone lying next to me, their hands on my body, their eyes fixed on what is here now, not what was once there. I imagine their fingers, gently brushing along my stump, as if they want to explore the boundaries of my new form. The thought alone makes my heart race.

I breathe deeper and feel my body respond. The tension builds, not like it used to, but differently, deeper. I know this is only the beginning. My sexuality didn’t disappear with my leg—it’s changed, just like me. Perhaps it’s even stronger now. There’s something alluring about the idea that someone would want to touch this new version of me, would want to explore it the way I’m doing now.

The warmth in my body grows, and I realize that I’m on the edge of something new, something I don’t fully understand yet, but that irresistibly draws me in. My thoughts drift to a future where I share this with someone else, where I not only accept my new form, but also cherish it, admire it, and share it with someone who feels the same curiosity.

I rest my hand and open my eyes. The room is still quiet, but I am not. This is just the beginning, and I’m ready to move forward, to discover what this new reality has in store for me.

LimpLust