[原创翻译]莎丽 古德文（我翻译的第一篇）

aphrodite

译文

     莎丽　古德文

我不觉得的母亲很难相处。实际上不是这样，我记得她在对待帮助上相当强硬。她希望每件事都能按她的意思去做。我们有一个厨子和管家，还有詹姆斯负责一些户外的工作。如果你好好工作并能达到她的要求她会很高兴，不然她就会很直接的说你。在父亲去世后她很有效率地管理着布鲁克伍德。
我想她是在我六七岁时开始需要个人助理的。七岁，是的，我想起来了。读寄宿学校的姐姐回来过十岁生日。母亲的情况已经糟糕到不得不雇用一个人专门帮助她。她总是说自己不过是‘今天感觉不好’之类的话，但家里的每个人都知道她得了肌肉萎缩症。七岁的我只知道她对这种过度的衰弱非常失望和愤怒。
就是在这种情况下莎拉 古德文和她的女儿来到了布鲁克伍德。母亲见了很多女人，最后选定了古德文夫人，因为她是一个强壮健康的女人、聪明而且受过足够的教育。而且我们这里也可以满足一个女人和她需要一些特殊帮助的女儿的需要。
莎拉 古德文的丈夫死于战争，虽然她有一笔养老金，但仍然需要工作来使她自己和女儿能过上好一点的生活。小莎丽出生的时候因为身体残疾在早晨和一天中的很多时间都需要照顾。因为要提供特别的房间及时间照顾莎丽，古德文夫人和母亲研究管理的办法。
我记得从关着的客厅门后面听到一些讨论。
“不，她没有智力上的问题，”古德文夫人说，“她非常聪明。我教她学校里的东西，她和同龄人一样聪明，甚至还要好一点。”
我母亲听起来很高兴。“也就是说她是瘫痪？或是生病？这个小姑娘到底有什么问题？”
“不，”古德文夫人说。“她很健康而且每件事都能做得很好。也许我们应该……”
就在这时，我记起来了，厨子从我偷听的门边走过，我赶紧跑回了自己的房间。那天晚上各种形象在我脑海乱钻。这个女孩会是什么样的？神话书上的图象不时在我眼前出现。她是象人马？一半是女孩一半是马？也许是有着闪闪发光的大尾巴的美人鱼？我想，她可能有一对象天使那样的翅膀而且还会飞。
两周后古德文夫人和她的女儿来到了布鲁伍德，同时也给我的问题带来了答案。
莎丽是一个别致、亲切的、有一头卷发的小金发美人。她坐在轮椅上，看起来和在她这个年龄的别的孩子没什么两样，没有马的身体、发光的尾巴或是翅膀。
但接下来的是，她也没有躯干之外的其他部分――既没有双臂，也没有双腿。
那景象在我脑海里保留了二十多年。一个穿着桃色衣服的小姑娘，用一双大大的会笑的蓝眼睛看着我。
“你好，”她对我说。虽然看起来没有可以被叫做肩膀的东西，她却能晃动衣服上的小衣袖对我打招呼。“我叫莎丽，你叫什么？”

我看着书房外的妻子，她随意地靠在躺椅上看杂志。
“你还记得我们第一次见面的时候吗？”
“什么事，亲爱的？”她抬起头。金色的卷发已经变成红褐色，但眼睛仍然象第一次见面时那么蓝。
“你还记得你和你母亲搬来布鲁克伍德的第一天吗？”
“当然记得。那对我和母亲是一个非常重要的日子。我充满了各种各样的疑问。去一座有一个和我同年的小男孩的大房子。你问这个干什么？”
“我只是回忆。我曾经对你的形象有各种－幻想。”
“幻想？对我？比如说？”
我说了我从小人书上拼出的形象。
“我想当你发现这个孩子既没有翅膀也没有奇怪的尾巴一定很失望。”
“不，我非常着迷。”
“你太可爱了，”莎丽说。“我真不知道还有再什么需要的了。你是我看到的第一个和我年龄相同的男孩。我记得你穿着套装站在那里，那是真正的盛装。”
“对。我还记得你向我招手还问我名字。”
“我确实做过。你知道我花了多长时间才想出方法象那样晃衣袖吗？”
“很长时间？”
“很久！看，我知道你期待着和这个新来的女孩握握手或做点其他什么，但我知道我什么也做不了，而且妈妈要求我至少第一天一定要呆在轮椅上。所以我想这样看起来象我在招手，果然如此。”
“我仍然不太清楚你是怎么做到的。”我看着莎丽在躺椅上伸直她的腹部。应该是肩膀的地方只有一个小点打破了她从脖子到躯体的曲线。只有在少数她穿上衣的日子轮廓才显示是连贯的。
“妈妈一定是给我试穿了很多衣服才找到一件能合适地包住我的胸部，所以在我晃动锁骨时它能动。最后我发现只要我适当的动脖子袖子就会摇动。很棒吧？”
“当然。不过后来我就不记得你穿过衣服了。”
“就算那时我也真的很讨厌被包在衣服中，不管是什么衣服。我是说，这就是我，活力十足而且希望象你一样到处疯，而且母亲希望我尽可能做所有我能做的事，但穿着优雅的衣服就不能让我在地上滚来滚去了。所以她只能让我看起来很漂亮地坐在轮椅上。我很讨厌，对我而言，衣服就象是一种限制自由的东西。倒是好笑啊，所以的女孩都喜欢衣服，但莎丽一点也不喜欢，这是真的。我知道衣服很漂亮，不过，你知道原因了。”
灯光在莎丽的身后留下了美丽的曲线。她的皮肤是完美无缺的。
“你是怎么让你母亲允许你这样做的？我好象记得你在地上滚或是摇摆着走路非常自然。”
“还不是因为假肢。记得我说过我曾经发过一次很大的脾气吗？直到她说我可以不用假臂和假腿。无论如何我不希望这种事再次发生。我从此不让她为我做任何我自己能做的事情，象是吃东西、做作业什么的。最后她允许我可以短时间在旁边转转，不过一旦离开她的视线我就以最快的速度扭出去。妈妈也算是个裸体主义者，所以没多久就接受了一切。”
“我还记得母亲的反应，”我说。“她坐在花园里和一个风景协会的女人喝茶。你就出现了，从草坪边上滚过去。而且我记得专门改变了方向，所以不是以旋转的下半身而是以头部对着她们。考虑得真周到。我想你在玩撞球游戏吧。”
“当然。我非常喜欢户外活动和四处滚动时小草擦过躯体的感觉。我喜欢四处晃和去闻詹姆斯精心照看的花的香味。那比呆坐在轮椅里有意思多了。我想那时我正在追那只猫，你还记得吗？就是长着白色爪子的那只。我肯定。那年夏天我八岁。那个女人戴着有紫色花边的大帽子，是吧？”
“是啊，我母亲说：‘试试立起来走，亲爱的。当人站立的时候能得到更多尊敬。’根本就没提你没穿衣服的事，记得吗？”
“你母亲很了不起。而且她是对的。我想她一定很重视别人的印像和看法，她的话正中要害。我想正是她的关心真正鼓励着我去努力用直立状态摇摆来代替在地上滚着移动。如果你可以把它看作是走路的话，对于那个年龄的我而言，因为完全没有腿，而且要用上全部的精力和耐心来控制，所以我移动得很慢。如果不是因为她我很可能会象动物一样在地上滚着移动很多年。”
“我记得你经常跌倒。”
“啊，是的。那些天我花了很多时间来保持平衡。一直到我的躯体开始发育，我的屁股变得更大我才能象现在这样走路。但在我学走路的时候草被压在我身下的感觉很有趣。就象赤脚走在草地上。就是从那个冬天我决心要独立上下楼梯，记得吗？”
“当然记得。最初你用象蠕虫一样向上爬，后来你学会了用下巴夹住栏杆然后把下身弯上去。我记得你也常常跌倒。”
“这是肯定的，有一次我差点就到顶了，结果一下子没抓住一直摔到底层。你母亲很关心，但她检查了我的躯体后宣布说我‘非常健康’，她就是这么说的。”
“她也希望你能够做得尽可能地优雅。”
“嗯，是的，”莎丽笑道。她很顽皮的笑了一下。“你母亲在走进来看到我往茶里放第三匙糖时非常激动！”
“我想不是因为糖的数量，亲爱的！”
“是的，是因为我拿汤匙的方法。但是甜心，我只是想说得斯文一点，你总不能在口里含着汤匙的时候高谈阔论吧。”
“是啊，但她一定被你的方法吓到了。”
她又笑了。“人们总是对此大惊小怪。我想看到我用下面的小东西拿汤匙对她是一种震惊，她那个时代的女性几乎是不会接受这种事情的。”
“她花了很多时间来接受这事。”
“我妈也一样。我记得当她第一次看到我尝试用自己的（XXXXX）拿起一支蜡笔的时候她用手捂着嘴站在那儿一动不动。我扭动躯体想要抓住那支蓝色蜡笔，但不管我怎么夹紧，连纸都变湿并滑开了也做不到。我是如此坚决地要拿起蜡笔。天。还记得我问她为什么我能感觉到里面的肌肉夹紧了但外面却什么反应都没有。就象有其他什么事不对一样。”
“她怎么说？”
“她努力以女性解剖学的角度向我解释那部分的设计和常用功能，之所以不行是因为这个器官是主要用来生孩子和做其他作用的。在她说完的时候我找到了怎么抓住蜡笔的办法，然后把我的图画本上的第一幅画中的蓝天全部着上了色。我完全被天空的颜色迷住了，根本记不清她解说的细节了。那种渴望和快乐是我以前从来没有过的感觉。然后我涂了几个小时的颜色。有时颤抖得只好停下来，但休息一下又开始了。”
“要你母亲接受这一点仍然十分困难。”
“嗯。但她是一个坚强的人，她不想给我任何限制。她鼓励我尽可能地独立。‘想办法自己做，’她说。我现在还能听见她这样说。到现在我给她打电话时她还想知道我又找到了什么新办法来做事情。”
“我母亲从来就没有完全接受你在餐桌上的技术。我想她宁愿看到有人把脚放上去。”
“我想也是。我要很努力以保证只有我的（XXXXX）接触到食物而不是屁股。那一点也不好。我记得第一次吃饭，带我上桌前妈妈不仅给我洗脸，还帮我洗了（XXXXX）。从那次起我就知道我可以象其他人一样拿餐具或汤匙了。”
“嗯，不过和别人的方法不太相同。”
“我还记得你第一次看到我用那种方法拿汤匙时你的表情。你的眼睛睁得好大！”
“你不得不承认，你的技术变得更优美了。”
“训练，只不过是训练的结果。”
莎丽在躺椅上扭动到她坐直靠在垫子上。
“我只是觉得合在下边的（XXXXX）比身体上的其他东西更象手，所以就想象其他人用手做事那样使用它们。甚至在从我一开始自己拿餐具，就在每天饭前把它们洗干净，特别是正餐。妈妈对此要求非常严格。她说如果我要把（XXXXX）放到桌子上，就至少要让它‘象嗓子一样干净’。如果我没法自己做到，她会帮我洗。所以我很快就学会了。”
“我还记得我们对我们的生殖器做了一次长时间的讨论。你对我的好奇极了。”
“是啊。我不记得是怎么开始的了，但我真的对男孩子的小弟弟很好奇，想知道能用来做什么。说来好笑，我对阴茎有各种幻想。通过它来做各种精彩的事情。我曾经晚上梦到这些。”
“那天你最后看到我的的时候失望吗？”
“实际上没有。但我想我过于期待。记得吗，你躺在我旁边的草地上的时候，我用（XXXXX）磨擦它，它一下子就变得又大又挺。我们都笑了。”
“我记得那天你和你母亲搬走了。我记得我多么希望母亲能屈服于肌肉萎缩症让你们留下。”
“我们也希望能留下。至少我是这样的，但母亲的工作没了，而且官员们在赶我们走。那时我多大？十二？对，十二岁。随着时间的推移，我越来越喜欢你。”
“我也是。那时我十二岁，姐姐十五岁。布鲁克伍德被卖掉了，我进了寄宿学校，然后是大学。”
“后来我们再次见面了。”
“对。那是两个大学的合并典礼上。我最初没有注意到你。只是觉得是一个性感的、没有四肢的轮椅尤物。就是这样。你穿衣服我没认出来。”
莎丽又笑了起来。“太滑稽了。我立刻就认出了你。同样的动作，同样的笑。我想跳下轮椅蹦到你面前说‘嗨’”
“为什么没做？”
“那时我正想显得酷一点。我只想和前排的其他女生做得一样。显得很有礼貌。你母亲的训练很有效果。”
“我记得你看起来多么迷人。奇特的装备和发育得如同魔鬼般的身材。”
“咪咪！你应该这样说。它们叫咪咪。上帝！真不敢相信我们已经结婚六年了，跟着妈妈重复，M-I-M-I。主啊，你和你母亲一样保守。”
“不，我没有。”
“你就是。你只会关着灯（XXXXX）。我的室友也觉得我的咪咪太强了。”
“你的室友？”
“是的，我有一根口棍用来打字，但我想卖弄一下。大一我做的第一件事就是在两个室友面前摇着我的电动轮椅到电脑旁边，在键盘上磨擦我的（XXXXX）直到它们挺起，然后输入作业。她们看得呆若木鸡。第二件事是他们要我再来一遍到底是怎么做的。第一年结束的时候她们也都能做得很好了。当我们在校园相遇时彼此都会笑。你知道，这是个秘密。”
“如果我没记错，你和你母亲离开布鲁克伍德后去了纽约北部的一个小地方。”
“是的。她找了份在图书馆的下午工，早上她教我学习。下午我做作业，打扫清洁和一些其他事。房子很小，只有几个房间，但我们利用了一个小后院。一切就OK了。”
“你还是光着身子到处走？”
“你这话听起来很恐怖！当然没有，不过除非有人来或是其他什么情况，我都不必穿好所有的衣服。”
“我记得你母亲给我看过你十四岁生日时的照片。你穿着一套浅蓝色衣服而且看起来很象个年轻美女了。”
“是的，那次。很好，来了很多邻居家的孩子。看啊，我从十三岁胸部就开始发育，那时我感觉自己很糟。首先你知道我希望能够任意移动它们和做事。有时我希望它们是手臂的替代，但是，显而易见的，它们只是腺体，没有肌肉和骨头，所以我很失望。每个晚上我一次又一次地试着让它们听从我的命令可它们只是立着不动而且变得越来越大。通常我能让自己的（XXXXX）伸出去，但从六岁时我就能做到了。可郁闷的是，它们要么在我希望放松的时候继续坚挺要么在做一件重要的事到一半的时候软下来。就象你那可爱但不可靠的小弟弟一样，亲爱的。”
“哇，你说什么！”
“别这样。我只是开玩笑。但它们确实是同样的情况，真的。我开始穿衣服，但当我最后找到一个方法可以让这些淘气鬼做一些事，衣服也就被扔到一边去了。我又恢复到以前的我了。”
“我猜大多数青春期的女孩子都要花很长时间来理解和接受身体上的变化，但听起来你好象没太大反应啊。”
“你没有经历过，亲爱的。胸部的生长是很好办的。只要想象一下一个清纯的女孩每次经期都要经历一次疼痛和情绪的起伏。不，你无法想象。我仍然得受这种情况困扰。我的粉红色的（XXXXX）每月会有一次灾难。还长毛，当然不是漂亮的头发。我甚至没办法站起来看看自己。我变得比一生中以前任何时候都残疾！我不能自己吃饭、刷牙或是其他什么。妈妈快忙死了。我甚至停止做作业。是的，有一段时间。那时我不得不用嘴咬着笔，我很不喜欢。后来妈妈给我买了第一个电动剃刀，它给我很大的帮助。至少在每个月的大部分时间我能够独立做一些事。除此而外我很喜欢剃刀的感觉。
“抖动的感觉？”
“嗯哼。但纯粹从感觉上说我更喜欢你用刷子、剃须膏和剃刀帮我刮。实在太舒服了。”
莎丽低头看着自己的身体。她的胸部非常大，几乎是一个圆锥形。她确实有一套非常惊异的办法来用它们完成日常的事务。即使是放松时，它们也很挺地如同要触摸或是夹西。
“咪咪最终发育得非常好，虽然不能用来打手语，但我学会了用它们来打字，这是一个转折点。”
她弓起背，让它们在她前面靠近。
“但是还是没法让（XXXXX）靠得够近。很难捡起小东西来。”
她放松躺回去，然后用我们通常说的‘她的私处’把杂志翻了一页。
“每个地方都很棒，我认为你真的是一个出色的女人，”我说。“我很高兴我们能在合并典礼上再次见面。”
“我也是，”她说。

“妈？”小小的声音从大厅传来。
“什么事，心肝？”
“我要上床了，好吗？”
“洗漱做完了？”
“嗯。”
“那好，你能自己上楼梯吗？”
“我走不了第一步。你能再示范一下吗？”
在门口，前后摇摆着保持平衡的是我们的女儿莎曼塔。她和她母亲在这个年龄时一模一样。同样金色的长发，同样的躯体。除了眼睛以外几乎就是她母亲的翻版。莎曼塔的眼睛是深紫色的。
莎丽轻松地滑下躺椅，用母亲的（XXXXX）扶住女儿的两侧应该是肩膀的地方，她和莎曼塔慢慢地用她们的方法向楼梯走去。

双子峡谷的风

感谢楼主，一直最喜欢这种类型的

怪顎龍

母女一個樣，真棒

锅巴狼

好看，非常感谢楼主翻译！希望大大能翻译更多的好文！

怪顎龍

送上原文
https://www.pixiv.net/novel/show.php?id=6554978#1

Sally Goodwin

        It wasn’t that she was hard to get along with, my mother. Not really. I do remember that she was firm when dealing with the help. She wanted things done her own way. We had a cook and a housekeeper, and James who looked after the outdoor chores. If you did your job and performed to her expectations, she was quite pleasant. If not, then she could be quite direct. Still, with my father gone most of the time and eventually out of the picture completely, she managed the household at Brookwood very efficiently.
        I think I must have been six or seven when she began to need a personal assistant. Seven, yes, that’s right. Sis was at boarding school and home for her tenth birthday, and Mother’s situation had gotten to the point where she needed someone in the house full time to assist her. Although the rest of the family knew she had Muscular Dystrophy, she described her situation as ‘just not feeling herself today’ or other phrases. As a seven year old, I only knew she was frustrated and angered by the weakness she found so inappropriate.
        It was under these circumstances that Sarah Goodwin and her daughter Sally came to stay at Brookwood. Mother had interviewed a number of women and settled on Mrs. Goodwin partly because she was a sturdy, healthy woman, intelligent and well enough educated to be a reasonable companion and partly because our place could accommodate a woman with a daughter who required some help of her own.
        Sarah Goodwin was single now. Her husband had died in the military and while she had some pension from the government, she still needed the income to make a decent life for herself and her daughter. Little Sally, her mother had explained, had been born physically disabled and required assistance in the mornings and at various times through the day. In exchange for the extra room and time required to assist Sally, Mrs. Goodwin offered to work for my mother at rate that appealed to Mother’s managerial outlook.
        I remember hearing some of the discussions as I listened through the closed parlor doors.
        “No, she’s not mentally handicapped,” Mrs. Goodwin was saying. “She’s really very bright. I’ve been teaching her her school work and she’s right up with her age level. Perhaps a bit ahead.”
        My mother had sounded pleased with that. “So she’s paralyzed, then? Or an illness? What exactly is the little girl’s problem?”
        “No, Ma’am,” Mrs. Goodwin had said. “She’s perfectly healthy and everything she’s got works perfectly. Perhaps we could...”
        At that point, I recall, Cook had come across me listening at the doors and I scampered back up to my room. That night all kinds of images danced in my young mind. What was this little girl like? Pictures from my books of fairy tales appeared and as quickly disappeared. Was she like a Centaur, part girl, part horse? Or perhaps a Mermaid with a long sparkling tail? Maybe, I thought, she could have wings like an Angel and be able to fly.
        Two weeks later Mrs. Goodwin and her daughter came to stay at Brookwood and my questions were answered.
        Sally was a pert, chatty little curly-headed blonde. Sitting in her wheelchair, she looked pretty much like most kids her age. No horse’s body, no shiny tail and certainly no wings.
        But then again, she didn’t have any legs, either. Or arms.
        It was an image that has stayed with me these twenty years. Pretty little girl in a peach colored dress, looking at me with big, smiling, blue eyes.
        “Hello,” she said to me. She wiggled around in her chair and while she didn’t have anything you could call shoulders, managed to make the tiny sleeve of her dress flap in a sort of wave. “My name’s Sally. What’s your name?”

        I looked across the study to my wife, relaxed on the divan, reading a magazine.
        “Do you remember when we first met?”
        “What dear?” She looked up. The blond curls were auburn now, but the eyes were as blue as the day we met.
        “Do you remember that first day when your mother and you moved in to Brookwood?”
        “Of course I do. That was a very big day for Mom and me. I was so full of questions. Going to this big house and Mom said there was a little boy my age. Certainly I remember. Why do you ask?”
        “I was just thinking back. I remember I had all these fantasies about what you’d be like.”
        “Fantasies? About me? Like what?”
        I spoke about the images I had conjured up from my children’s books.
        “I guess you must have been pretty disappointed when this kid with no wings or fancy tail shows up.”
        “No, I wasn’t. I was fascinated.”
        “You were so cute,” Sally said. “ I really didn’t know what to expect either. You were the first boy my age I’d ever seen. I remember you were standing there in that little suit, all dressed up.”
        “Right. And I remember you waved at me and asked me my name.”
        “So I did. Do you know how long it took me to figure out how to flip my sleeve like that?”
        “A long time?”
        “Forever! See, I just knew that you’d be expecting to shake hands or something with whoever this new girl was and I knew I couldn’t do that or much of anything else and Mom wanted me to stay in the wheelchair for that first day at least. So I figured if it looked like I was waving, that would do it.”
        “I still don’t know quite how you did that.” I gazed at Sally, stretched out on her tummy on the divan. Where shoulders should be there is only a tiny button that breaks the smooth line from her neck to the rest of her torso. On those rare days when she wears a top the contour appears unbroken.
        “Mom must have tried a dozen dresses on me ‘til we found one that fit just tight enough around my chest so it would move when I wiggled my little collarbone. I finally found out that if I did that and moved my neck at just the right moment it would make the sleeve flap. Neat, eh?”
        “Certainly was. I don’t remember you wearing dresses much after that though.”
        “I really hated to be bound up in clothes even then. Any kind of clothes. I mean, here I was, all full of energy and wanting to run around just like you did and Mom wanted to let me do as much as I could, but couldn’t have me rolling around on the ground in  decent clothes she could barely afford, so she just made me sit in the chair and look pretty. Hated it. I guess clothes began to represent a kind of bondage to me or something. Funny, most girls love clothes. Not little Sally, that’s for sure. I mean clothes are pretty and all that, but oh, you know that story.”
        The lamplight glowed on the sensuous curve of Sally’s back. She has perfect skin.
        “How did you work things out with your mother? I seem to remember you rolling around on the floor or doing your wobbly version of walking pretty much au natural.”
        “Same deal as with the prosthetics. Remember how I said that I just threw one tantrum after another until she said I could go without the artificial arms and legs? Talk about confining! Whew! Any how I didn’t want to pull the same stunt exactly, so I kept at her and just wouldn’t do half the things I could perfectly well do for myself, like eat, or do my homework, stuff like that. Finally she let me go around just in shorts and those I wriggled out of as soon as she got out of sight. Mom’s a closet Naturist anyhow, so it wasn’t really too hard.”
        “I remember my mother’s reaction,” I said. She was sitting on the garden bench having tea with a woman from The Landscape Association and here you came, wriggling around the corner on the grass, not a stitch on and I remember you switched yourself around so you’d pass by with your head toward them instead of your whirling bottom. Very considerate. I think you were headed to the croquet court or something.”
        “Right. I really enjoyed being outdoors and being able to roll around and the soft grass tickling my body. I liked to go around and smell the flowers that James took such care of. It was so much more fun than just sitting propped up in that wheelchair. I think I was chasing the cat at the time. Remember her? The one with the white paws? I remember that. I was eight that summer. That woman was wearing this huge hat with a purple ribbon on it. Right?”
        “Right, and all my mother said was: ‘Try to get up and walk more, dear. People have much more respect for when you stand up.’ Not a word about you lack of clothes. Remember?”
        “She was neat, your mother. She was right, too. Image and attitude were very important to her and in a lot of respects I think she was right on the button. I think it was her interest that really encouraged me to keep on trying to balance myself upright and rock along that way instead of rolling around on the ground. Walking, if you could call it that, without any legs at all was really slow going for me at that age and I was so full of energy and impatience. I’d probably have kept spinning along like some kind of animal for years if it hadn’t been for her.”
        “I remember you toppled over a lot.”
        “Oh, sure. I had a terrible time keeping my balance in those days. Wasn’t ‘til my body started to develop and my hips broadened a bit that I really got to be able to walk the way I can now. But it was fun to feel the grass under my bottom as I was learning to walk. Barefoot in the grass. That was the winter I decided to be able to go up and down stairs by myself. Remember?”
        “Oh, indeed I do. You had this caterpillar kind of technique at first, then you worked out that way of holding a balustrade under your chin and swinging your bottom up to the next step. I remember you took a few tumbles, too.”
        “For sure. One time I was almost to the top and lost it and went head over tail all the way to the bottom. Your mother was a little concerned, but she checked me out and pronounced me fit as...’fit as a fiddle,’ that’s what she said.”
        “She wanted to make sure you had the utmost in social graces, too.”
        “Oh, yes.” Sally giggled. She has a wonderful playful giggle. “Your Mom got pretty agitated when she came in and saw me trying to put a third spoonful of sugar in my tea!”
        “I suspect it wasn’t the amount of sugar, my dear!”
        “So OK, it was the way I was holding the spoon. But dear heart, I was just trying to be elegant and you can’t carry on a high tone conversation with a spoon handle in your mouth.”
        “True, but I think she was more taken aback by the alternative you chose.”
        Sally giggled again. “People always make such a fuss over that. I suppose it was a little shocking for her to see me trying to hold a spoon in my little place down there that most women of her generation can barely admit even exists!”
        “She did have a hard time with that.”
        “So did my Mom. I remember the first time she saw me trying to pick up a crayon in my pinkie and she just stood there with her hand to her mouth. I was rolling all around trying to get a grip on this blue crayon and the paper had gotten wet and come off and it just kept slipping out, no matter how hard I squeezed. I was just so determined to pick up that crayon. Gosh. I remember asking her why I could feel the muscles inside squeeze and nothing much happened with my outside stuff. Like was there something wrong with me or something.”
        What did she say?”
        “She tried to explain the design and usual function of that part of a woman’s anatomy and why things were the way they were for the purposes of child bearing and so forth. By the time she was finished I’d figured out how to pick up the crayon and had colored most of the sky in the first picture in my coloring book. I don’t remember the details of her explanation anymore, just how neat it felt coloring in that sky. Kind of itchy and nice. A feeling I hadn’t had before. Fun. I used to color for hours on end after that. Sometimes I’d get the shivers and have to stop, but then I start up all over again.”
        “It still must have been difficult for your mother to accept .”
        “Sure. But she’s a really strong person and didn’t want to put limits on me. She encouraged me to be as independent as possible. ‘Figure out how to do it yourself,’ she’d say. Gosh I can hear her say that. Even today when I call her she wants to know what new way I’ve discovered to do something.”
        “My mother never was completely able to accept your techniques at the dining room table. Rather like putting one’s feet on the table, I suppose.”
        “Yeah, I guess. I worked very hard to make sure only my pinkie was around the food, not my bum. That wouldn’t have been nice at all. I remember the first time Mom not only washed my face before dinner. She washed my pinkie too, before bringing me to the table. That’s when I knew it was OK to pick up a fork or spoon like everyone else.”
        “Well, not exactly like everyone else.”
        “I remember the expression on your face the first time I held a spoon that way. Your eyes were so big!”
        “You’ll have to admit, your technique has become a lot more polished.”
        “Practice, Dear One, just a lot of practice.”
        Sally wriggled around on the divan until she was upright, leaning on the cushions.
I just decided those little pink folds down there were as close to hands as I would ever have and tried to use them the way I saw everyone else doing things. Even washed them before meals. Every day. Before dinner, especially. Just the way I do it now. Mom was very strict about that. She said that if I was going to stick my pinkie up on the table, at least it would have to be as ‘clean as a whistle’,” and if I couldn’t figure out how to wash myself, she’d do it for me. So I learned in a hurry.”
        “I remember a long discussion about our genitals. You were so curious about what I had.”
        Right. I don’t remember what started that, but I was so curious about what boys had and what they could do with whatever that thing was. Funny. I had all these fantasies about penises. Thought they could do all kinds of wonderful things. I used to dream about them at night.”
        “Were you disappointed that day when you finally saw mine?”
        “Not disappointed, exactly. But I guess I was expecting more. Remember, you lay down in the grass next to me and I reached over and rubbed it with my pinkie and it got all hard and stuck straight up. How we laughed.”
        “I remember the day you and your mother moved away. I remember hoping that even though my mother had finally succumbed to MS that somehow you would stay on.”
        “We wanted to stay. I did, at least, but Mom’s job was over and the administrators decided that it was time to leave. What was I? Twelve? That’s right. Twelve. Tough time to move. I was beginning to like you a lot.”
        “And I you. That’s right I was twelve and Sis was fifteen. Brookwood was put up for sale and I went to boarding school, then college.”
        “And that’s where we met up again and so forth.”
        “Right. It was that two college mixer. I didn’t even recognize you at first. Here was this intensely sexy looking girl in a wheelchair, no arms or legs, but a very attractive outfit. That must have been it. I just didn’t recognize you with clothes on!”
        Sally giggled again. “That was so much fun. I spotted you right away. Same body language, same cute smile. I wanted to jump down out of that chair and come bouncing over and say ‘hi’!”
        “Why didn’t you?”
        “Oh, I was trying to be cool. I needed to act just right in front of the other girls. Pecking order, that sort of thing. Your mother’s training had not been wasted.”
        “I just remember how fantastic you looked. Make up, fancy outfit and that incredible figure that you’d developed.”
        “Boobs. You can say that, dear. They’re called boobs. God heavens we’ve been married for six years! Repeat after Mommy, B-O-O-B-S. Lordy, you’re as Victorian as your mother!”
        “Oh I am not.”
        “Sure you are. You even have to turn out the lights to make love. Anyhow, my roommates got a big kick out of them too.”
        “Your roommates?”
        “Sure. I had mouth sticks to type with, but I wanted to show off. First thing Freshman year in front of my two roomies rolled my power chair over to the computer, rubbed my nips on the keyboard ‘til the stuck out and then typed my homework. They just stood there totally paralyzed. Next thing they were begging me to show them how. They got pretty good by the end of the year. We all just smiled and giggled when we passed on campus. Secret stuff. You know.”
        If I remember correctly, you and your mother found a little place in upstate New York when you left Brookwood.”
        “Right. She got this afternoon job at a library and we did schoolwork in the morning. Afternoons I did homework, did the cleaning and so forth. Place was pretty small. Just a couple of rooms, but we did have use of a small back yard. It was OK.”
        “Were you still able to go around in the nude?”
        “You make it sound so weird! No, I didn’t have to get all covered up around the house unless people came by or something.”
        “I remember that picture your mom showed me of your fourteenth birthday party. You had a little blue dress on and you were already starting to look like a young woman.”  
        “Oh yes. The party. That was OK. Mostly kids from the apartment building. See, when I was about thirteen my breasts started to puff out and I was just terribly self-conscious. First you have to remember that I had expected to be able to move them all around and do things. Somehow I wanted them to be the arms I never had. But of course, they just were glandular tissue with no muscle or bone and I was so very disappointed. Every night I tried and tried to make them obey my commands but they just stuck out and got bigger and bigger. I could make my nipples stick out most of the time, but I could do that since I was six. Even then, they’d either stay out when I wanted them to relax or go soft right in the middle of something important. Like your sweet but unreliable penis, dear.”
        “Oh, really!”
        “Oh come on. I’m just teasing, but it’s the same thing, really! I did start wearing clothes, but when I finally discovered how I could actually use the rascals to do a few things, and clothes just got in the way, why I was my old self again.”
        “I suppose a lot of girls have a hard time understanding and accepting the changes that happen to their bodies as they pass through puberty, but you don’t seem to have suffered too greatly.”
        “You weren’t there, sweeetcakes. Growing breasts was the easy part. Just imagine what it must be like for a innocent little girl to suddenly suffer the pain and emotional roller coaster of a menstrual cycle. No, you couldn’t. You still have trouble with that. My sweet little pink pee place changed into a monthly disaster. And got hairy. Not nice, pretty hair, either. I couldn’t even stand to look at it myself. I became more handicapped than I had ever been in my whole life! I wouldn’t feed myself, brush my teeth or anything. Mom about died. I even stopped doing my homework. Well, for a while. Had to write holding the pen in my mouth and I hated it. Mom finally brought home my first electric shaver and that helped a lot. At least I could do a few thing for myself again, for most of the month anyhow. Besides I liked the way it felt.”
        “The vibration?”
        “Yep. But for pure sensuous pleasure I still much prefer the way you do me with brush, shaving cream and razor. That’s what I really like.”
        Sally looked down. Her breasts were remarkably large, almost incredibly perfect cones. She has indeed developed some marvelous techniques that allow her to perform many every day tasks with them. Even when relaxed, they seem to be reaching out anxiously for something to touch, to embrace.
        “Boobies finally turned out OK. Not quite up to doing international sign language for the deaf, but I learned to type with them and that was the turning point..”
        She rounded her back, bringing them together before her.
        “Still can’t get my nips close enough together, though. Hard to pick up little things.”
        She relaxed, leaned back and turned a page of the magazine with what our cook had always referred to as ‘her privates’.
        “Everything considered, I think you’re one extraordinary woman,” I said. “I’m so very happy that we met again at that mixer.”
        “I am too,” She said.
        “Mommy?” a small voice came from the hallway.
        “Yes, sweety?”
        “I’m all ready for bed, OK?”
        “All washed and teeth brushed?”
        “Yes.”
        “All right then, do you think you can get up the stairs by yourself?”
        “I can’t get up that first step. Would you come show me again?”
        In the doorway, swaying back and forth to keep her balance, was our daughter Samantha. She looked exactly like her mother at that age. Same blond hair and yes, the exact same body. In every way she was the image of her mother, except for the eyes. Samantha has deep lavender eyes.
        Sally slipped easily down from the divan and putting one motherly breast along her daughters side, there where a shoulder might have been, she and Samantha slowly swiveled their way toward the staircase.

buyuqi

这篇太棒了