Going out on a limb

The search for love is never easy, particularly if you're choosy. And let's face it, being disabled doesn't make things any easier. Over the last few years I've had numerous flings, none of which have blossomed into the mutually supportive marriage of true minds I'd hoped for.

With each liaison I've found my criteria for prospective suitors becoming tighter and tighter, until I realised I was searching for a twenty-nine year-old six foot five lapsed Catholic graduate smoker, living within a 2.5 mile radius of my house. After a while I sensibly realised I'd need to be more flexible.

All my exes have been able-bodied, so that shared disability understanding thing had never come my way. Special mention here for one ex though, who claimed to understand me since a torn ligament prevented him from running the London Marathon once. This hasn't been intentional, but I don't seem to meet many other disabled people, let alone eligible disabled men. But all this was to change.

This Christmas, in the early hours of the morning at a local bar, I met a very attractive, interesting young man, who 'just happened to have' one leg. Being a through-hip amputee, he was without prosthesis, and as someone with stamina and pain problems, I watched jealously as he effortlessly negotiated tables and drunken revellers with his crutches.

We got on well, but it wasn't until I got him home (others were there too, you understand) that I realised just how unusually compatible we might be.

My disability causes massive hypersensitivity, particularly in my left leg, so when a young man chooses to sit next to me on my bed it's always a potential nightmare. Cowering away in the corner doesn't always send out the right signals. But when I found myself with Mr X on my left, and automatically drew my bad leg away, I realised that for once I had nothing to fear. Indeed, I could even sit enticingly close to him without worrying his right leg would affectionately stray - he didn't have one.

As the evening drew on, I began to find myself more and more attracted to him. We had a lot in common, had been to the same university, read the same books, he made me laugh - so the absence of leg wasn't the only attraction, but it definitely made things more interesting.

When he finally left at 7.00am we stole a kiss in the corridor. The next day, horribly hungover, in typically girly fashion I began to analyse ...

Would I have been interested in him if he'd had two legs? I wasn't sure. I certainly wouldn't have noticed him immediately, and I was sure that part of the physical attraction was linked to his disability, because I always feel a little physically intimidated by men as soon as they get anywhere near me. Even if they know perfectly well that touching my left knee will cause me massive amounts of pain, in the heat of the moment it's very easy to forget, sometimes with disastrous results.

I was once bed ridden for a fortnight after a boyfriend hit my knee with his elbow at an amorous moment. But when I kissed Mr X his hands were taken up with his crutches, preventing any unfortunate lunges, and perhaps because of his 'one leggedness', he seemed much more in control of his movements than most men.

The next time we met was at a New Year's Eve party, and wherever the attraction sprang from, it was definitely still there. We flirtatiously swapped walking implements, though as a sometime crutch user my attempts with his crutches were rather more successful than his with my stick.

We insisted on first place at the buffet, and earmarked the only dining table as the Cripples' Table, whilst the rest of the company made do with their laps.

I began to understand the concept of 'strength in numbers', as I was for the first time not the only disabled person present. I rather liked it. I had a slightly uncomfortable feeling that the other guests were thinking it sweet that the nice little cripples had found each other, but to be honest I really didn't care.

We talked late into the night, and the conversation kept coming back to disability. Not because that was the only common point of interest, but perhaps because it was liberating to be able to discuss the impact our disabilities had on our lives with someone who we knew wouldn't feel uncomfortable about it.

I presumed he'd be a disability aficionado, as he had twenty-three years of experience to my five, and was amazed to discover that he'd never even heard of the Social Model of Disability.

Our perceptions of the whole subject were completely different. I'd had the label 'disabled' thrust upon me at the age of nineteen, while for him it was such an intrinsic part of who he was that he didn't even consciously apply that label to himself.

By four in the morning things were winding down, and the hostess was attempting to draw up a sleeping plan. It was then that Mr X gave me what has to be the best chat-up line I've ever heard ...

I had been allocated a double futon, and it quickly became clear that as beds were in short supply I was unlikely to keep it to myself. The thought of sharing it with a drunken fitful sleeper, who might constantly bash my leg throughout the night, filled me with apprehension. But Mr X gallantly suggested that "purely on the grounds of practicality", he would be the best bedfellow for me. Lying side by side with him on my left, there would be no right leg to present any dangerous obstacles to my sensitive left leg.

He rigorously denied any vested interest in this arrangement, and promised not to abuse his position. This impartiality was a little undermined when I heard him trying to persuade other guests that they would be far happier sleeping in the corridor than sharing our spacious room.

We had a lovely night. My leg remained unbanged, and all was relatively chaste. In the morning I automatically flinched when he hugged me, and exclaimed joyfully when I remembered that there was no pesky right leg to ruin our fun.

We continued our acquaintance after the festive season, with a series of very civilised dates. We walked together in the snow (well, twenty yards of it anyway) as Mr X tried out his new prosthetic.

Far more disabled by his new leg than his crutches, we clung onto each other for dear life, and agreed that if either of us were to fall the other should save themselves, as any attempt at self sacrifice would be disastrous.

On another date we went swimming, causing horrified looks in the jacuzzi as a one-legged man helped a seemingly able-bodied woman out of the pool.

So what happened next? Did we stumble off into the sunset, our crutches working in perfect unison? I'm afraid not, and not for any leg-related reasons. But then could it have worked? Could I have coped with endless knowing looks from people who presumed we'd met at Disability Club? I'm not sure, but I certainly wouldn't write off the possibility of meeting another eligible amputee.

In fact, I may have to rewrite my criteria: single woman seeks man, over six foot five, graduate, twenty-nine, must be local, lapsed Catholics encouraged, amputation of right leg mandatory.