How did I loose my hair the first time? Part two of the answer

WARNING: This story is graphic. Do not read if you have an easily upset stomach. There will be four parts to this answer. I will post this warning at the start of each.

Part 2 The Road Back (030810)
Copyright Deni Wom 2003

It is early, and I decide it is time to leave our alpine lake and return to civilization. I close up the motor home and load Hubs up, bid good bye to our lake, and sit down in the drivers seat. I crank the starter and . . . . nothing . . . . . . . . just clicking sounds. I turn on the overhead light and it comes on , but very dimly. I turn everything off, and wait.

Several hours later the starter still does not work. I face the fact that we are not going to drive out of here without some help from someone. I am unable to decide what to do about Hubs. If I try to leave him here, he will have to be locked inside Maude. If I leave him outside, he will just follow me. If he goes with me, and I don’t make it, he could also die from predators, or lack of food.

I decide that he is in less danger by going with me. At least if I die, he can eat my body to stay alive.

We start walking back down the single lane dirt road that we arrived on. The day is already hot and airless. The noises are muted by the heat. The smell of dust is everywhere. Hubs is not his usual exploring self. He stays close beside me, watching and staring at every sound. He is clearly nervous.

After several hours, we take a break and sit on a large log lying beside the road. Hubs plops himself over my feet, looking around constantly.

After a short while, we start walking again. The day gets hotter, and the lack of water is becoming tortuous. My tongue begins to swell a bit. I can no longer wet my lips. I have abused my body for too long without water or food. I notice that my clothes hang on me now, no longer fitting the curves that I used to flaunt.

The afternoon turns to evening, and we are still walking. There seems to be no change in the appearance of the road we travel, just turn after turn of dirt road with trees as far as I can see.

I notice that Hubs is starting to limp slightly. The fifty or a hundred times that I have emptied my shoes of dirt have taken their toll on my back. I have great difficulty bending over to remove and empty them now.

The pain in my body and the pain in my heart meld into one large undifferentiated pain. I think about whether to just walk with the dirt in my shoes. My first blister enforces my need to keep my shoes cleaned out, for Hub’s sake. The evening cool arrives and I wish that I had brought a jacket.

We have been walking for eight hours, I figure. The limp in Hubs right side is becoming more pronounced.

The sun sets behind the mountains. The air cools rapidly. The darkening sky increases the nervousness in Hub’s movements.

Soon it is fully dark, but the nearly full moon rises shortly thereafter. I begin to see shadowy movements out of the corners of my eyes, and I fight panic on a minute by minute basis.

Hubs deafening bark scares me so badly that I soil myself. I hear an answering bark from through the trees. Could it really be a house?

I listen and as the barking continues, I also hear a distant voice yell at the barking dog to shut up.

Hubs takes off in the direction of the barking dog. Thank god that the distant barking dog is not well trained on voice commands. The continuing barking act as a beacon for us, and a short while farther I stumble into a clearing with a tent that is being guarded by the barking dog. In the moonlight I can vaguely see two pickups through the small clearing.

As I creep toward the tent, a man exits the tent’s opening and yells at the dog, “What the fuck is the matter with you, you fucking dog, SHUT UP!”

I cannot force my mouth to speak. My tongue is so dry that is no longer works, and my fear is so real and overwhelming that I just stand there and shiver. Hubs moves beside me and growls, and the stranger hears me collapse just as he re-enters the tent.


When I awaken, four men in various stages of dress are standing over me, illuminated by the yellow light of a sputtering and hissing gas lamp. I am lying on a camp cot, covered by a blanket. I am shivering uncontrollably.

They see my eyes open and stand there, not able to find the words to break the silence. I look around for Hubs, and see him lying in the corner, his head on his paws. He senses my awakening and arises, then moves to my cot, nuzzling me with his wet nose. He has obviously been fed and watered. In a haze I decide that is a good sign.

I try to speak, but only a croak comes out. One of the men fetches a cup of water and offers it to me. I try to sit up but cannot. They raise me up tenderly and help me drink. Their hands are gentle, but my fear has not abated. All I have been through has left me with a profound fear of the male half of the human race. My shivering becomes violent shaking, and I spill the water all over my front.

I focus on Hubs, and I see he senses nothing to fear. I decide to trust his instincts.

When the water has penetrated my thirst a bit, I again try to drink. This time I am able to take the full cup of water, then another, and then another.

My ability to make understandable sounds returns. I request that they help me. I explain my problem with the motor home. They make plans, and they dispatch me, with blanket intact, to one of the pickups and they drive me back to my beloved Maude. It takes them only a short time to get her started by jump starting her. They follow me back to the junction with the main highway. I stop there and try to pay them for the effort they have made.

They refuse payment, and as I am about to turn back to Maude, they say, “Hey Deni, we are just curious, and you can tell us to take a flying leap, but…………..”

“But?”

“Yeah, you have been through hell, haven’t you?”

“Aaaahhh, mmmmm. Yes, I have.” My eyes search for a hint of where this is going.

“Deni, is there any thing we can do to help you, I mean, you are like, well, close to falling apart, right?”

I do not know what to say. My fear makes me suspicious, yet their unspeakable kindness to me and the huge amount of time they have taken from the middle of their night make me decide not to be flip with them.

“My husband of eight years left me without any stated reason a week ago. I am trying to find myself. Thank you so much for asking.” My bowed head presents a target for them if they want to berate me.

“That’s just terrible! What can we do to help you out, sweetie? Is there anything that we can help you with? Anything at all, just ask, we will help you out.” I can hear the emotion in his voice. The look on his face tells me he is sincere in his offer. I see sincere sparkling water in the corner of his eyes.

I put my hands through the window of his truck and hug him. I burst out crying, and sob for a long time as he holds my upper arms. He kisses my ears and cheek as I sob. I sense his sincere and very real concern for my well being.

“Can we buy you dinner, honey?, Hell, it is time for breakfast now. How’s about we buy you breakfast. There is a diner just down the road just a few miles. Why don’t you follow us. We would be happy to buy you breakfast and you can tell us your story about that shit of a husband that you are better off without.”

I actually smile at his sincere and compassionate face.

“I would be honored to eat my breakfast with you, but you have to let me buy.”

“As tough as you are, Deni, I won’t fight you for it. Hop in that RV and follow us. It ain’t far.”

It wasn’t far, and the thought of food actually sounds good to me. I am surprised to realize that. I have eaten so little in the last week that my body is in starvation mode. I can feel my stomach beginning to bloat a little.

I order a salad and soup, but the men tell the waitress that she will bring me real food, not that stuff. They order me an omelet, pancakes, eggs, ham, hash browns, milk, and coffee.

I meekly nod my acceptance to the waitress and she retires to her post near the kitchen.

Their polite eyes watch me until my story begins to pour forth. I am still talking when the food arrives. I talk as I eat, and I am amazed at how much of the huge meal I consume.

My stomach hurts from too much food too soon, but I do not dare complain. They have been so kind to me. I have drunk so much water since they found me that the hour that we talk is long enough to allow it to process. I excuse myself to visit the powder room. The excruciating pain as I relieve myself reminds me of my folly.

I go to the sink and wash my hands and face. As I raise up I look in the mirror and see an old woman with dark, almost black circles, under her eyes and a terrible dye job, standing behind me. I turn to acknowledge her, but there is no one there.

I realize that the woman in the mirror is me.

I stare at her for a long time. She has aged 20 years in a little over a week About a quarter of an inch of her hair at the roots is now lighter. I realize her hair is growing in white as snow. Her eyes have sunken, and look huge surrounded by the black circles. Her skin is wrinkled and blotchy. I see bruises on her forehead and cheek. In shock, I vaguely wonder who this woman is I am looking at?

When I return to the table, they both are sitting there, looking very relaxed, tooth picks in their teeth. I decide to do a reality check. I ask them how old they think I am. I watch as they mentally deduct five to ten years from what they really think, and tell me they’d guess I am about fifty five!

“Well Deni, we need to get back out there. We been cutting fire wood for the winter’s needs. We got a full day ahead of us.”

I notice that the sky is lightening outside. They have given up their night to make sure I am OK. These two dear men have done more to help me than they will ever know. I ask them for their names and addresses. They both warn me “not to put perfume on any a them letters, because their wives sure enough wouldn’t understand about that!”

They get up and leave, thanking me for breakfast, and tell me any time I am in the area, just stop on in.

They leave and I go to pay the tab. The waitress tells me there is no tab to pay, it has already been paid by the men. Their kindness and generosity brings tears to my eyes.

She adds, ‘Honey, they told me what you been through. I been married, divorced four times, and I can tell you that men just don’t get it. Good luck honey.” She returns to her station by the kitchen.

I return to my Maude, and change my underwear. I again go to the mirror above the sink and study my face. It is mine, I decide. I am thirty nine years old and I look sixty. Tears stream down my cheeks as I study my new appearance.



I have to decide what to do about my hair. It looks terrible. I am embarrassed by the appearance of having dyed hair, and so unkempt at that. I decide to cut it off and let it grow back in it’s new color of white.

I drive toward Redding. Hubs again sits beside me as he consoles me with his head on my lap.

There is a motor home park on the outskirts of town. I check in and ask about a place to log on to the internet. The man taking my money doesn’t know what that means, but calls his grandson and asks him. He tells me there is a place that I can get coffee and do that surfin’ stuff downtown. He gives me directions and I return to Maude. Utilizing the rental showers at the park I scrub my skin as gingerly as I can, and am successful in removing a number of areas of blood that I was not sure whether they were scabs or just blood cakes. The park also has a laundry facility where I listen to my clothes washing and then drying for several hours.

Later I go to the internet café and log on. There are several messages from friends concerned about me. I answer their emails. I converse with Mistress Carla, Harley, another friend for a short while. They drop off and then Mistress Carla and I talk longer.

I express total surprise at how I have without even thinking about it submitted to her dominance, and have given myself to her to control and use. She expresses a little surprise, but also pleasure about owning me. She is excited about how she will use me and make me pleasure her. We talk about how that might play out. I relate how until last night I had no idea how I would ever want to be a sub. I tell her that I feel such a sense of freedom now, that I have no responsibility for my actions. That it is she that must bear that responsibility now. I re-affirm my willingness to be her slave and to be used in any way she sees fit. Her obvious pleasure at my statements of submission brings me great happiness.

After a bit she has to prepare dinner for her children, but instructs me to be back at six o’clock my time. I finish my story of the previous week, and send it to my friends.

When I return to the internet café, there is a long line of people waiting to log on to the net port, and I fidget in line, itching to get back on to the internet chats with my Mistress, my only lifeline to life itself. It is well after seven o’clock by the time I am linked and booted into my messenger program. Mistress Carla is busy with other things, and does not talk to me. I tell her I am there, and she replies that she is researching viruses that can be spread on Messenger. She instructs me to wait and that she will be back after she is done with that. I wait until my allotted time at the port is almost up. I message her telling her that I have to log off soon, and she replies, “ok, bye.”

Harley assures me that Mistress stays up late. I queue and again get to the port, but she is still logged on as ‘away’. I pass through the queue several more times, and at about one forty five her time she logs off. I again pass through the queue on the off chance that she was booted or might come back on. She does not.

I pack up my computer and return to Maude, then drive back to the park. Lying there in the darkness, I stare at the ceiling trying to puzzle why she has snubbed me. About four AM the stunning realization occurs that I am just a toy to her, and that she has discarded me like a small child moves from toy to toy as their whimsy leads them.

I inventory my current assets. I have no husband, I have one wonderful friend in Wanda, but she is young and will do fine without me. My looks are gone. I feel my breasts and realize that even they are just hanging sacks of slack flesh now, no longer the proud beauties that they were a few weeks ago. My ribs protrude obscenely from my chest now. I am no longer desirable to men, and even my willingness to be her slave is not enough to cause my new Mistress to want me.

So it comes down to Hubs. What will I do to make sure Hubs is cared for? His love and unquestioning trust must not be wasted in my haste to no longer experience my pain. I absolutely must find a loving and caring home for him.

I have already died once before, and I am not afraid of it. I crave the feeling of total love and acceptance as I remember the sensations of the presence of Love in the after life.

I realize that I must also send a thank you note to Christine and David for allowing me to have the incredible rush of viewing my writing in print. And I must properly thank the two fine gentlemen that took their time to restart Maude for me.

I decide that will about finish what I need to do, and work on the wording of my thank you notes as I peacefully drift into fitful painful sleep.