I was chatting with my beloved Penny tonight, and we started talking about perfectionism. We have all fallen victim to trying to make “it” too perfect. And then we chastise ourselves for not achieving that perfection.
I realized, when my late husband showed me a chart, that “perfect” is a physical impossibility,
OK, visual a chart with two axes. Almost every large manufacturer does this chart. The horizontal axis is Cost, the vertical axis is Quality. Then if you chart the cost (and cost can be time, or money, or resources) to reach a certain quality you discover something very interesting.
The chart will invariably show that the cost for the last 40% of quality costs as much as the first 60%.
The last 15% costs as much as the first 85%.
The last 5% costs as much as the first 95%.
The last 1 % costs as much as the first 99%!
That is why there is no such thing as “Perfect”. “Perfect” is prohibitively expensive in time, money, and effort.
So when looking at their market, the manufacturer has to decide what price point they want to compete at, then find that point on their cost/quality curve. That is how “perfect” they can make their product.
How does that affect you?
First, it should show you that you cannot possibly be “Perfect”. Because it would take the rest of your life to reach “perfection” on every single goal.
Second, since it is an impossibility to be perfect, and you must accept that, then you can DECIDE just how close to “perfect” you really want to be? How much time do you really want to spend reaching the prohibitively expensive “perfection” that you have been driving yourself toward? What other things could you be doing with your time, instead of trying to reach perfection?
For example, the companies that own fiber optic communications cables that now encircle our globe, shoot for 99.9999% “up time”. In other words they strive to be able to transmit light down their miles of fiber optic cable 99.9999% of the time. Now that does not include the other measures of quality that they strive to achieve, but only the actual frequency of “up time”.
There are about 31.5 million seconds in a year. To reach their goal of 99.9999% up time, their ability to transmit data can only be out of commission for 31.45 seconds per year! About half a minute. Not much time!
In order to reach their goal, they have developed the ability to switch between individual strands of the cable, so unless it is actually cut in two, and all of the individual strands within the cable are therefore broken, it is not as difficult as you might think.
But in order to insure that they do not “go down” completely, they put in “rings” of cables. In other they put in one cable down one route, say a highway. Then they lay another cable down a different highway. That way, the odds of both cables being cut at the same time are extremely remote! And the switching gear that changes your phone call from one cable to another is extremely fast. That change takes place in nanoseconds (billionths of a second).
So what I learned, long ago when my late husband and I were first dating, is
1) Perfection is impossible
2) Forgive yourself for not being perfect, but instead being simply the fallible human God made you to be
3) Choose just how much you want to be "perfect"on a project-by-project basis, considering time, other priorities, and costs
4) And then live life in a far more productive environment that choose rationally how "perfect" to be.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Men; learning to Flirt with Women
So you want to learn how to score with women!
The vast majority of you men are baffled by women. So let’s have some clarification about what most women respond to. Sound good?
To begin with, let’s do some planning, strategic planning. Making a plan ALWAYS comes first, guys! Plan your work, work your plan.
First you must take stock of yourself.
Be honest with yourself, what are your strong suits? And don’t tell me you have none, because you DO have some! EVERYONE DOES! Are you a good joke teller? Are you highly intelligent? Do you love to read books? Have you traveled a lot? Is your voice deep and sexy? The key is to decide what YOU are most self-confident about.
Second, what are your weaknesses? Now don’t DWELL on them. Don’t get depressed about them. Just make a list of them. And then stay away from situations that will make you have to reveal your weaknesses.
Example, lets say you are NOT a good reader. So then don’t get put into a position where she can see you reading in front of a crowd, at least not till you have hooked up with that special woman that interests you.
Another example, perhaps you do not have that knack of dressing “right”. The best person to help you with your clothing and hair style is a woman. Maybe your sister, or a chum, or a cousin, or a co-worker, but trust her and wear what she picks out for you.
Third, (now you are at the same location that she is, like the bar, or the beach, or a party) take stock of what the woman you have decided you want to meet is doing. Is she talking to her girlfriends? Is she flirting with anyone? How does she flirt? What does she do when she is deflecting other men’s come-ons?
As you are subtly watching her, she will become conscious of you. She may not show it, but she WILL detect your interest.
If you stare head-on at her, she will either feel uncomfortable, or feel flattered. Which is it? How do you know the difference? If she feels uncomfortable, she will not smile, will not become coquettish, will not blush, she will not giggle with her girlfriends as she tells them some cute guy is looking at her. Her eyes will furtively look at you in quick instantaneous hostile flashes.
If she appears to feel uncomfortable, stop looking at her. Turn away. Talk to someone else. Go take a leak. But every once in awhile, let her catch you looking at her. Not in a blatant way, just shy glances.
Take your time. Time is on your side. Continue to track her movements, her actions. You can learn a lot by just watching from a distance. You are getting to know her. Don’t stare, just shyly observe her.
This period of watching will help you to determine if she is a taker or a giver. The way she treats others will tell you which she is.
IMPORTANT! IF she is a TAKER, do NOT approach her. She will just hurt you, sooner or later, she will hurt you badly. So don’t give her the chance.
The good news is, if she is a giver, she will not be an ass to you, even right at first!
So, have your friendly comment ready, walk by her, wherever she is, when she is not in the midst of an intense conversation and casually inquire or comment to her WHILE YOU LOOK HER DIRECTLY IN THE EYE, then walk on by to somewhere else, anywhere else, no matter what she says. Come back by in about five minutes and again drop a gentle one line comment that is not intended to “hook” her, but will just let her again hear your voice, and to know that you are interested but not desperate.
Hunting vs. Farming vs. Fishing
Hunting: Don’t be one of those macho assholes that “Hunts” a woman. They “shoot” a one liner that is intended to “kill” her resistance instantly. The only women those work on, is a taker, and you do not want a taker in your life. If a woman falls for a one liner, she is not worth having, believe me!
Fishing: And also don’t be one of those wall flowers that shrinks from making any contact with women. If all you do is stand there, hoping against hope some woman will deign to talk to you, you are fishing. And fishing is a lousy way to find a girlfriend. Takes forever, and you have no control over who “bites” on your “bait.”
Farming: Now this is how decent people get together! In the above example of how to cultivate a friendship, I talked about just passing by, and farming her bit by bit. Think about the metaphor. A farmer, tills the ground, then comes back and plants a few seeds, and then comes back and waters, and then fertilizes (don’t take that too literally!) and weeds, and waters, . . . . and it takes a bit, but you will have a harvest if you farm your relationship right.
And . . . women LIKE to be farmed. That is what romance is: farming the relationship! Don’t be in a hurry, and let your collective friendship grow.
As you gain a little confidence, start “farming” several “plots of ground”, i.e. talk to a number of women wherever you are. Don’t push any of them for commitment. Just let the relationships grow.
But the key is to realize that you don’t have to live or die by first contact. A genuine smile and a gentle touch is all it takes to convince a woman that you are “worth it!”
Next time, After First Contact!
The vast majority of you men are baffled by women. So let’s have some clarification about what most women respond to. Sound good?
To begin with, let’s do some planning, strategic planning. Making a plan ALWAYS comes first, guys! Plan your work, work your plan.
First you must take stock of yourself.
Be honest with yourself, what are your strong suits? And don’t tell me you have none, because you DO have some! EVERYONE DOES! Are you a good joke teller? Are you highly intelligent? Do you love to read books? Have you traveled a lot? Is your voice deep and sexy? The key is to decide what YOU are most self-confident about.
Second, what are your weaknesses? Now don’t DWELL on them. Don’t get depressed about them. Just make a list of them. And then stay away from situations that will make you have to reveal your weaknesses.
Example, lets say you are NOT a good reader. So then don’t get put into a position where she can see you reading in front of a crowd, at least not till you have hooked up with that special woman that interests you.
Another example, perhaps you do not have that knack of dressing “right”. The best person to help you with your clothing and hair style is a woman. Maybe your sister, or a chum, or a cousin, or a co-worker, but trust her and wear what she picks out for you.
Third, (now you are at the same location that she is, like the bar, or the beach, or a party) take stock of what the woman you have decided you want to meet is doing. Is she talking to her girlfriends? Is she flirting with anyone? How does she flirt? What does she do when she is deflecting other men’s come-ons?
As you are subtly watching her, she will become conscious of you. She may not show it, but she WILL detect your interest.
If you stare head-on at her, she will either feel uncomfortable, or feel flattered. Which is it? How do you know the difference? If she feels uncomfortable, she will not smile, will not become coquettish, will not blush, she will not giggle with her girlfriends as she tells them some cute guy is looking at her. Her eyes will furtively look at you in quick instantaneous hostile flashes.
If she appears to feel uncomfortable, stop looking at her. Turn away. Talk to someone else. Go take a leak. But every once in awhile, let her catch you looking at her. Not in a blatant way, just shy glances.
Take your time. Time is on your side. Continue to track her movements, her actions. You can learn a lot by just watching from a distance. You are getting to know her. Don’t stare, just shyly observe her.
This period of watching will help you to determine if she is a taker or a giver. The way she treats others will tell you which she is.
IMPORTANT! IF she is a TAKER, do NOT approach her. She will just hurt you, sooner or later, she will hurt you badly. So don’t give her the chance.
The good news is, if she is a giver, she will not be an ass to you, even right at first!
So, have your friendly comment ready, walk by her, wherever she is, when she is not in the midst of an intense conversation and casually inquire or comment to her WHILE YOU LOOK HER DIRECTLY IN THE EYE, then walk on by to somewhere else, anywhere else, no matter what she says. Come back by in about five minutes and again drop a gentle one line comment that is not intended to “hook” her, but will just let her again hear your voice, and to know that you are interested but not desperate.
Hunting vs. Farming vs. Fishing
Hunting: Don’t be one of those macho assholes that “Hunts” a woman. They “shoot” a one liner that is intended to “kill” her resistance instantly. The only women those work on, is a taker, and you do not want a taker in your life. If a woman falls for a one liner, she is not worth having, believe me!
Fishing: And also don’t be one of those wall flowers that shrinks from making any contact with women. If all you do is stand there, hoping against hope some woman will deign to talk to you, you are fishing. And fishing is a lousy way to find a girlfriend. Takes forever, and you have no control over who “bites” on your “bait.”
Farming: Now this is how decent people get together! In the above example of how to cultivate a friendship, I talked about just passing by, and farming her bit by bit. Think about the metaphor. A farmer, tills the ground, then comes back and plants a few seeds, and then comes back and waters, and then fertilizes (don’t take that too literally!) and weeds, and waters, . . . . and it takes a bit, but you will have a harvest if you farm your relationship right.
And . . . women LIKE to be farmed. That is what romance is: farming the relationship! Don’t be in a hurry, and let your collective friendship grow.
As you gain a little confidence, start “farming” several “plots of ground”, i.e. talk to a number of women wherever you are. Don’t push any of them for commitment. Just let the relationships grow.
But the key is to realize that you don’t have to live or die by first contact. A genuine smile and a gentle touch is all it takes to convince a woman that you are “worth it!”
Next time, After First Contact!
Monday, June 27, 2005
Sex Tips Requests, and flirting support
I have been asked to share my thoughts on sexual things, aimed at trying to answer questions about sex as relates to the differences between sexes.
Anyone have any burning questions that they want my opinion on?
The first one will be about men approaching women with the intent of becoming friends . . . and more. . . . .
Anyone have any burning questions that they want my opinion on?
The first one will be about men approaching women with the intent of becoming friends . . . and more. . . . .
Sunday, June 26, 2005
The real dilemma we face
Religion is now, unfortunately, controlled by politics. It has been so since the Catholic Church decided to wrest control of the European populace by force in the 14th and 15th centuries.
By their hideous actions, the Catholic Church again set itself up as “the Pharisees and Sadducees” that Jesus the Christ so scorned, and verbally chastised, in his day.
Shame on us for allowing “the church” to determine what sin is today.
If GOD did not say a particular act is a sin, why do we then allow the politically driven Churches of today to redefine what SIN is at their own intemperate whim?
By their hideous actions, the Catholic Church again set itself up as “the Pharisees and Sadducees” that Jesus the Christ so scorned, and verbally chastised, in his day.
Shame on us for allowing “the church” to determine what sin is today.
If GOD did not say a particular act is a sin, why do we then allow the politically driven Churches of today to redefine what SIN is at their own intemperate whim?
Reading translated texts, like the Bible
If any of you speak a foreign language, you know how difficult it can be to choose just the right word to convey your thoughts when you are trying to converse in a language which is not native to us.
For example in English, you might say "Do you know him?" when speaking of a friend. In German you would quite likely say "Kennen sie er?" to ask that same question. A literal translation of that German phrase into English would result in an English statement "Can you him?" Obviously a literal translation does not always convey the speaker’s, or writer’s, thoughts cleanly.
Jesus spoke Aramaic as his native language. The New Testament of the Bible was written in Greek, so already Jesus’ words have been translated into a “foreign language” once (Aramaic to Greek). Then to compound the translation related problems, his words were translated into many other languages, one being English. So an already imperfect expression of his thoughts from the first Aramaic to Greek was made even less perfect by the additional translation.
A simplistic attitude would be to tell ourselves, “God is in control, so I am sure he made it clear what he wanted.” The old “The Bible is God’s inspired Words” cop out. (Give me a break! God also gave us a brain to think with. Let’s use it!)
If the English NIV Bible truly is the inspired word of God, then we would not now have at least six other, different, English translations. Each of the English translations differs substantially from the others in the words they choose to express the very same original phrase.
Let’s take for example the word “Love”. In English we have only ONE word for Love. In Greek, and most other languages, there are MANY different words for love. Which intent did the Christ use when he spoke in Aramaic? Was it properly translated, with the Christ’s original exact intent, into Greek? And then once again into English? Obviously it was not translated perfectly into English, because there are no amplifications for the many different uses of the word ‘love’.
“Uh oh!” you say.
For example, if we are blithely literal in the interpretation of the English word ‘love’, we could interpret the command to “Love thy brother” as a command to be a homosexual.
“Uh oh!” you say.
So then, obviously we must try to find the ORIGINAL intent of the phrase when it was ORIGINALLY spoken in Aramaic by Jesus. We CAN NOT depend on the written words in our English Bibles, because we now agree for certain that the ability to interpret the English translations correctly leaves too much to our own previously taught predilections about sex, love, and the other wonderful gifts god has given us.
For example in English, you might say "Do you know him?" when speaking of a friend. In German you would quite likely say "Kennen sie er?" to ask that same question. A literal translation of that German phrase into English would result in an English statement "Can you him?" Obviously a literal translation does not always convey the speaker’s, or writer’s, thoughts cleanly.
Jesus spoke Aramaic as his native language. The New Testament of the Bible was written in Greek, so already Jesus’ words have been translated into a “foreign language” once (Aramaic to Greek). Then to compound the translation related problems, his words were translated into many other languages, one being English. So an already imperfect expression of his thoughts from the first Aramaic to Greek was made even less perfect by the additional translation.
A simplistic attitude would be to tell ourselves, “God is in control, so I am sure he made it clear what he wanted.” The old “The Bible is God’s inspired Words” cop out. (Give me a break! God also gave us a brain to think with. Let’s use it!)
If the English NIV Bible truly is the inspired word of God, then we would not now have at least six other, different, English translations. Each of the English translations differs substantially from the others in the words they choose to express the very same original phrase.
Let’s take for example the word “Love”. In English we have only ONE word for Love. In Greek, and most other languages, there are MANY different words for love. Which intent did the Christ use when he spoke in Aramaic? Was it properly translated, with the Christ’s original exact intent, into Greek? And then once again into English? Obviously it was not translated perfectly into English, because there are no amplifications for the many different uses of the word ‘love’.
“Uh oh!” you say.
For example, if we are blithely literal in the interpretation of the English word ‘love’, we could interpret the command to “Love thy brother” as a command to be a homosexual.
“Uh oh!” you say.
So then, obviously we must try to find the ORIGINAL intent of the phrase when it was ORIGINALLY spoken in Aramaic by Jesus. We CAN NOT depend on the written words in our English Bibles, because we now agree for certain that the ability to interpret the English translations correctly leaves too much to our own previously taught predilections about sex, love, and the other wonderful gifts god has given us.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Flirting for fun
I have flirty eyes I am told. I don't necessarily mean to flirt, but I apparently do. It comes naturally for me. I don’t think of it as flirting. Instead, I think of it as just being friendly, . . . as being attentive to a person that I am interested in. And by interested, I do not mean sexually necessarily. In fact, to get into my booty, you have to ensnare my mind first.
Most women have no idea how to flirt any more.
And most 'giving' worthwhile men do not have the self confidence that it takes to approach what is an apparently hostile woman and ask her for a date, no matter how badly he wants to get to know you. I don’t blame them either. I watch women go to a bar for the explicit purpose of making friends with some man, any man, and they sit there with baleful glares daring anyone to have the audacity to speak to them.
They openly laugh at men, put men down, make jokes about a man’s bumbling efforts to breech the chasm between the sexes. Then they bitch because no man approaches them and knocks them dead with some lame one-liner. They leave, go home and bitch to all thier girlfriends about how dead the dating scene is.
Well, I can tell you that it is ALL their own fault. And frankly, I feel kind of sorry for them. For you, if that is what you find yourself doing.
So how do you change that? How does one flirt? EASY!
+ SMILE at men!
+ Look directly AT them!
+ Continue to smile at them and look at them as they walk toward you.
+ And no matter how badly they stumble in their first words to you, KEEP SMILING and looking at them.
+ Say “HI!” with enthusiasm and a smile. Say it even before HE speaks! Spare him having to be adoringly coy and cute with someone he has no clue about (you).
+ Make a joke, not AT HIM, but about something safe, like the weather, or the crowd, or someone’s obviously dorky outfit, or some other equally innocuous subject. BUT NEVER AT HIM! Have the joke in your head, ready to tell, before you start to flirt. It can be simple, like, if it is raining, say “Think I will need my galoshes to get home?”
+ And Keep smiling at him as you gaze directly and honestly into his eyes.
That is, amazingly, all it takes!
Treat a man like he is someone you WANT to get to know! If he does turn out to be an unsatisfactory dork that is just not your type, get to know his friends for a keeper more suited to your likes.
AND! Forget all those stupid trite and wrong headed assumptions that women make about men. Such as:
- Men are only interested in sex. WRONG! That is only true if YOUR brain does not function well enough to engage them in conversation.
- Men are stupid. WRONG! Men are, on average, much more intelligent, caring, and giving than any woman’s libber will give them credit for.
- Men want sex the first date or forget it. WRONG! That is true only if you have nothing to otherwise offer . . . . or they are a taker, in which case you need to drop them like a lead balloon anyway.
- Men are afraid to commit. WRONG! Men will commit to a woman that he feels emotionally safe with. Are you that safe to be around emotionally? VERY few women are!
- Men are all takers. WRONG! I see far more MEN that are givers than women. Women have come to believe their pussy is how they can maintain control in a relationship. Most women are so stingy with sex that their men give up trying to make them happy. Then things spiral to divorce faster than a kite with a broken cross spar.
More later about how to care for a man once he has trusted you enough to make a pass at you, in person, in real time
Anyone else have suggestons? Or things that have worked for them?
Most women have no idea how to flirt any more.
And most 'giving' worthwhile men do not have the self confidence that it takes to approach what is an apparently hostile woman and ask her for a date, no matter how badly he wants to get to know you. I don’t blame them either. I watch women go to a bar for the explicit purpose of making friends with some man, any man, and they sit there with baleful glares daring anyone to have the audacity to speak to them.
They openly laugh at men, put men down, make jokes about a man’s bumbling efforts to breech the chasm between the sexes. Then they bitch because no man approaches them and knocks them dead with some lame one-liner. They leave, go home and bitch to all thier girlfriends about how dead the dating scene is.
Well, I can tell you that it is ALL their own fault. And frankly, I feel kind of sorry for them. For you, if that is what you find yourself doing.
So how do you change that? How does one flirt? EASY!
+ SMILE at men!
+ Look directly AT them!
+ Continue to smile at them and look at them as they walk toward you.
+ And no matter how badly they stumble in their first words to you, KEEP SMILING and looking at them.
+ Say “HI!” with enthusiasm and a smile. Say it even before HE speaks! Spare him having to be adoringly coy and cute with someone he has no clue about (you).
+ Make a joke, not AT HIM, but about something safe, like the weather, or the crowd, or someone’s obviously dorky outfit, or some other equally innocuous subject. BUT NEVER AT HIM! Have the joke in your head, ready to tell, before you start to flirt. It can be simple, like, if it is raining, say “Think I will need my galoshes to get home?”
+ And Keep smiling at him as you gaze directly and honestly into his eyes.
That is, amazingly, all it takes!
Treat a man like he is someone you WANT to get to know! If he does turn out to be an unsatisfactory dork that is just not your type, get to know his friends for a keeper more suited to your likes.
AND! Forget all those stupid trite and wrong headed assumptions that women make about men. Such as:
- Men are only interested in sex. WRONG! That is only true if YOUR brain does not function well enough to engage them in conversation.
- Men are stupid. WRONG! Men are, on average, much more intelligent, caring, and giving than any woman’s libber will give them credit for.
- Men want sex the first date or forget it. WRONG! That is true only if you have nothing to otherwise offer . . . . or they are a taker, in which case you need to drop them like a lead balloon anyway.
- Men are afraid to commit. WRONG! Men will commit to a woman that he feels emotionally safe with. Are you that safe to be around emotionally? VERY few women are!
- Men are all takers. WRONG! I see far more MEN that are givers than women. Women have come to believe their pussy is how they can maintain control in a relationship. Most women are so stingy with sex that their men give up trying to make them happy. Then things spiral to divorce faster than a kite with a broken cross spar.
More later about how to care for a man once he has trusted you enough to make a pass at you, in person, in real time
Anyone else have suggestons? Or things that have worked for them?
They brought their dates home last night...........
These words are being written this morning by a very happy, contented woman. My darling girls brought their dates home to me last night. [They are my lovers, not my daughters, just so you know]
The night before my girls had held me down so I could not move my head and brought me to orgasms. It had been so long, so very long, WEEKS!
I know, some of you poor men are made to wait that long all the time by your sexually unresponsive wives, but for me, that is a VERY long time. I prefer several times a day.
In any case, the Rodeo is this weekend in a nearby town. And rodeo weekend is such a sexy weekend. I have a story about this on Samarel's site (URL is http://www.samarelart.com/Adultstories/Deni/deni_003.htm ). This particular little town has one of the oldest, and most authentic, rodeos anywhere.
Since I really cannot move my head quickly yet, and rodeo such is a fast sport, I decided not to go this weekend. Both Linda and Lieza however had dates and went. They told me before they left they were going to bring their dates home for me to have fun with, or more properly, they told me that their dates were going to have fun with me . . .
Then as they walked out the door, they both giggled and told me they were going to the dance after the rodeo so it would be late before they would be back with nice hard cocks for my pleasures. They both hugged me, giggling because they know just how much I adore them sharing their men with me.
They knew how much it would make me ache to cum as I waited for them to get home.
And I did, I kept touching myself and caressing her little neediness until I would begin to feel a tiny bit woozy, then back off and cat nap. I was in a state of utter desperation by the time they came in about 2 this morning.
Can you tell yet that they love making me needy? They love toying with me and making me beg for a good sexing. They definitely know how to tease me.
But they did arrive, and oh my goodness! They had FOUR men with them. Daryl, Lieza’s betrothed, Jamey was with Linda, and then two young men introduced to me as Tim and Bruce. Tim and Bruce were clearly cowboys through and through. Tight jeans, gorgeous little butts, strapping chests with the top button undoned to show their manly chests. They are all about mid twenties.
Both men looked at me, their eyes roaming my body, knowing they were going to have me. There is nothing like the look in a man’s eyes that you don’t even know that says, ‘I am going to fuck you tonight and you are never going to forget me!’ I was already wet and turned on, but watching their eyes covet me was nearly more than I could stand.
Lieza and Linda had already explained the situation to them, so they were all ready for my bald head. I don’t think they were ready to see a 41 year old woman with a body like mine though. They both bulged out while looking at me as I was introduced. My white tight T-shirt and no bra did little to hide my prominent nipples, and my short tight jogging shorts with no panties clearly showed my protruding, ready clittie.
One of them muttered “Holy fucking shit!!!!” as his eyes took me all in. Their tight jeans left little to my imagination either, and they both adjusted themselves as I stared. Lieza, Linda and Daryl, who all know me very well, laughed as the three other men and I stared at each other with lust written in bright red paint on our faces.
Finally, Bruce broke the ice. “Eh, well, Liez, you weren’t lying a bit there was ya?”
Lieza laughed her sexy throaty chuckle. “You think you can handle that little sex pistol, Brucy?”
Brucy grinned his macho cowboy grin and stepped forward, taking me into his arms and holding my goose down head, kissed me.
I kid you not, my knees buckled!!!!!!!!!! God what a kisser!
Tim stepped behind me and helped to hold me up as their hands touched me where they most wanted to. I offered ZERO resistance! I was past ready to be fully used and pleasured by them!
Lieza began to unbutton her own blouse. The guys all lost their britches. They were all commando, so in a few seconds I was gawking at hard shafts and precum on penises. I was soon the only one with clothes on.
They walked me into our super king bed and laid me down gently. Linda got the pillow for my head, placed it where it belonged, and said “Cut her clothes off boys! She needs a good raping tonight. Fuck her like she is a bucking horse you have to ride!”
And they did. For over two hours I had a cock in my mouth and a cock in my pussy. After that it slowed down a bit. But about six this morning, I was the only one still awake. Of course I had the benefit of cat naps last evening while they were out carousing. Lieza made sure they all came in my mouth after getting them selves close in my wet needy pussy.
I have three young studs asleep in my bed right now, and two delectable women. Time to go back in there and makes sure they got their money‘s worth, don’t you think?
The night before my girls had held me down so I could not move my head and brought me to orgasms. It had been so long, so very long, WEEKS!
I know, some of you poor men are made to wait that long all the time by your sexually unresponsive wives, but for me, that is a VERY long time. I prefer several times a day.
In any case, the Rodeo is this weekend in a nearby town. And rodeo weekend is such a sexy weekend. I have a story about this on Samarel's site (URL is http://www.samarelart.com/Adultstories/Deni/deni_003.htm ). This particular little town has one of the oldest, and most authentic, rodeos anywhere.
Since I really cannot move my head quickly yet, and rodeo such is a fast sport, I decided not to go this weekend. Both Linda and Lieza however had dates and went. They told me before they left they were going to bring their dates home for me to have fun with, or more properly, they told me that their dates were going to have fun with me . . .
Then as they walked out the door, they both giggled and told me they were going to the dance after the rodeo so it would be late before they would be back with nice hard cocks for my pleasures. They both hugged me, giggling because they know just how much I adore them sharing their men with me.
They knew how much it would make me ache to cum as I waited for them to get home.
And I did, I kept touching myself and caressing her little neediness until I would begin to feel a tiny bit woozy, then back off and cat nap. I was in a state of utter desperation by the time they came in about 2 this morning.
Can you tell yet that they love making me needy? They love toying with me and making me beg for a good sexing. They definitely know how to tease me.
But they did arrive, and oh my goodness! They had FOUR men with them. Daryl, Lieza’s betrothed, Jamey was with Linda, and then two young men introduced to me as Tim and Bruce. Tim and Bruce were clearly cowboys through and through. Tight jeans, gorgeous little butts, strapping chests with the top button undoned to show their manly chests. They are all about mid twenties.
Both men looked at me, their eyes roaming my body, knowing they were going to have me. There is nothing like the look in a man’s eyes that you don’t even know that says, ‘I am going to fuck you tonight and you are never going to forget me!’ I was already wet and turned on, but watching their eyes covet me was nearly more than I could stand.
Lieza and Linda had already explained the situation to them, so they were all ready for my bald head. I don’t think they were ready to see a 41 year old woman with a body like mine though. They both bulged out while looking at me as I was introduced. My white tight T-shirt and no bra did little to hide my prominent nipples, and my short tight jogging shorts with no panties clearly showed my protruding, ready clittie.
One of them muttered “Holy fucking shit!!!!” as his eyes took me all in. Their tight jeans left little to my imagination either, and they both adjusted themselves as I stared. Lieza, Linda and Daryl, who all know me very well, laughed as the three other men and I stared at each other with lust written in bright red paint on our faces.
Finally, Bruce broke the ice. “Eh, well, Liez, you weren’t lying a bit there was ya?”
Lieza laughed her sexy throaty chuckle. “You think you can handle that little sex pistol, Brucy?”
Brucy grinned his macho cowboy grin and stepped forward, taking me into his arms and holding my goose down head, kissed me.
I kid you not, my knees buckled!!!!!!!!!! God what a kisser!
Tim stepped behind me and helped to hold me up as their hands touched me where they most wanted to. I offered ZERO resistance! I was past ready to be fully used and pleasured by them!
Lieza began to unbutton her own blouse. The guys all lost their britches. They were all commando, so in a few seconds I was gawking at hard shafts and precum on penises. I was soon the only one with clothes on.
They walked me into our super king bed and laid me down gently. Linda got the pillow for my head, placed it where it belonged, and said “Cut her clothes off boys! She needs a good raping tonight. Fuck her like she is a bucking horse you have to ride!”
And they did. For over two hours I had a cock in my mouth and a cock in my pussy. After that it slowed down a bit. But about six this morning, I was the only one still awake. Of course I had the benefit of cat naps last evening while they were out carousing. Lieza made sure they all came in my mouth after getting them selves close in my wet needy pussy.
I have three young studs asleep in my bed right now, and two delectable women. Time to go back in there and makes sure they got their money‘s worth, don’t you think?
Friday, June 24, 2005
About Dying. . . .
Thanks to all of you that have commented on my blog regarding religion and dying.
I have been urged to share with you what I learned on my own personal journey through death.
First: Obviously God sent me back.
Second: Even though the left-brain, self-described intelligentsia have no clue what they are saying, they continue to contend it was just someone’s dying brain in its last gasps that makes them think they saw God. Well, the only thing I can say to that is BULLSHIT! If that were true, then why do millions of people who have what the “brain-nerd’s” call a “Near Death Experience” have virtually the SAME “near death experience”, regardless of religion, age, sex? If what the “deniers” proclaim is true WERE true, why does it make no difference how long you were dead before you come back? Any person coming back will still have those nearly identical memories?
Third: God is neither a He nor a She. Sorry, but that’s the facts. Let me describe to you why I know that.
But first I will describe my own terminology about this. I am open to other terms if they better describe the things I have experienced.
In our present world, we perceive things in length, width, and height. We call those things 3 Dimensions, or 3D. The next dimension we live with every day, is Time. We can therefore call Time the 4th Dimension.
So what is the 5th Dimension?
I have taken the liberty of calling the spiritual world the 5th Dimension, or 5D. That is not a scientific term, but for our purposes it works.
So that would indicate that God, being spiritual, exists in the 5th D. Furthermore, our inner spirits exist in that same 5th D. They exist there because they are literally part of God. You can deny God, but that does not stop you from carrying a part of God inside you.
When that part of God inside you, called your Soul, departs your physical body, the body that exists in the first four dimensions, your body dies. There is an actual point of parting of the spirit, your soul, from your body at death. Literally, that is the exact point of death.
At that instant, even if you are in terrible pain, the pain stops. A sense of utter peace fills your consciousness. You may even find yourself “looking down” at your body and seeing what was going on around what is left of yourself, your earthly body. People often describe watching doctors around an operating table working frantically on their body on the operating table. People describe seeing their twisted body in a wrecked car, or floating in the water, or on a hospital bed with their wailing relatives hovering around the body they are leaving behind.
Obviously these memories are a part of the soul, not only the brain.
When your body and soul separate, your soul leaves behind the tyrannical rule of the 4 Dimensions. It is no longer constrained by gravity, it has no mass, it has no width, length, or height. It is unaware of time. It is in 5th D. No time! Just existence.
Then, as it peacefully, blissfully approaches God, it senses nothing but Love. Utter, unquestioning, non-judgmental, ever constant Love.
I have said to many of my friends, God is Love, . . . . and LOVE is GOD.
If indeed in this life, you do an act of love, you have spread a bit of God around, whether you were intending to or not.
So let’s discuss the argument about God’s gender.
Gender is solely for the purpose of procreation, i.e. SEX. Sex is for the single purpose of replacing the species. ALL of these are time based activities. In 5th D there IS no time. Therefore there is no need for gender. Your soul has no gender. Nor does God. God has no penis nor a vagina. Those are time based things. There is no time in God’s presence.
[The Bible says that ten thousand years is but the blink of an eye, right? That sounds like what I am saying!]
Please let me know if you want me to further amplify any of these thoughts.
I will continue my thoughts on this if you are all still interested.
Kisses
I have been urged to share with you what I learned on my own personal journey through death.
First: Obviously God sent me back.
Second: Even though the left-brain, self-described intelligentsia have no clue what they are saying, they continue to contend it was just someone’s dying brain in its last gasps that makes them think they saw God. Well, the only thing I can say to that is BULLSHIT! If that were true, then why do millions of people who have what the “brain-nerd’s” call a “Near Death Experience” have virtually the SAME “near death experience”, regardless of religion, age, sex? If what the “deniers” proclaim is true WERE true, why does it make no difference how long you were dead before you come back? Any person coming back will still have those nearly identical memories?
Third: God is neither a He nor a She. Sorry, but that’s the facts. Let me describe to you why I know that.
But first I will describe my own terminology about this. I am open to other terms if they better describe the things I have experienced.
In our present world, we perceive things in length, width, and height. We call those things 3 Dimensions, or 3D. The next dimension we live with every day, is Time. We can therefore call Time the 4th Dimension.
So what is the 5th Dimension?
I have taken the liberty of calling the spiritual world the 5th Dimension, or 5D. That is not a scientific term, but for our purposes it works.
So that would indicate that God, being spiritual, exists in the 5th D. Furthermore, our inner spirits exist in that same 5th D. They exist there because they are literally part of God. You can deny God, but that does not stop you from carrying a part of God inside you.
When that part of God inside you, called your Soul, departs your physical body, the body that exists in the first four dimensions, your body dies. There is an actual point of parting of the spirit, your soul, from your body at death. Literally, that is the exact point of death.
At that instant, even if you are in terrible pain, the pain stops. A sense of utter peace fills your consciousness. You may even find yourself “looking down” at your body and seeing what was going on around what is left of yourself, your earthly body. People often describe watching doctors around an operating table working frantically on their body on the operating table. People describe seeing their twisted body in a wrecked car, or floating in the water, or on a hospital bed with their wailing relatives hovering around the body they are leaving behind.
Obviously these memories are a part of the soul, not only the brain.
When your body and soul separate, your soul leaves behind the tyrannical rule of the 4 Dimensions. It is no longer constrained by gravity, it has no mass, it has no width, length, or height. It is unaware of time. It is in 5th D. No time! Just existence.
Then, as it peacefully, blissfully approaches God, it senses nothing but Love. Utter, unquestioning, non-judgmental, ever constant Love.
I have said to many of my friends, God is Love, . . . . and LOVE is GOD.
If indeed in this life, you do an act of love, you have spread a bit of God around, whether you were intending to or not.
So let’s discuss the argument about God’s gender.
Gender is solely for the purpose of procreation, i.e. SEX. Sex is for the single purpose of replacing the species. ALL of these are time based activities. In 5th D there IS no time. Therefore there is no need for gender. Your soul has no gender. Nor does God. God has no penis nor a vagina. Those are time based things. There is no time in God’s presence.
[The Bible says that ten thousand years is but the blink of an eye, right? That sounds like what I am saying!]
Please let me know if you want me to further amplify any of these thoughts.
I will continue my thoughts on this if you are all still interested.
Kisses
Thursday, June 23, 2005
At last! An orgasm!
It has been weeks and weeks since I felt like I could risk cumming. Liez and Lindi took pity on me this evening. Lindi held my head down with a pillow over my forehead, held tight to my ears with her knees. Her delectable body was within a tongues length of my mouth.
Liez sat with her hips on my chest to hold my upper body immobile, and her thighs and knees on each side. She was facing toward my legs, . . . and all that lies between.
I tend to get dizzy, even to the point of hurling if I move my head too fast since my operation. By holding me down like this, they were keeping my head from moving.
Then Lieza turned on the vibrator. Maybe I should describe this wonderful toy for you. It is a very dark brown color, and feels exactly like a man’s penis when you touch it. It is about 12 inches long, and about 3 inches in diameter. I cannot take the whole length of it, but the girth I enjoy more than I can describe in words. The vibrating head and shaft drive me absolutely wild.
Lieza holds the phallic shaft by its base, her hand wrapped around it. Drizzling the warm type of K-Y lubricant on the furrow of my pussy, she slowly rubs the large chocolate vibrating tip up and down my sensitivity. She never quite gets to the area around my clittie, but the vibrations on my randy flesh transmits somewhat to that most delicate of my parts. With each slow pass up and down my lips, she digs slightly deeper until I am squirming in need.
It has been so long! Way too long! I have not been without an orgasm for this long since my first husband died. Soon Lieza has the toy circling my opening. I can feel the wetness inside me filling the void that is my vagina.
Linda’s pussy is on my mouth, and I cannot keep myself from tonguing her as deeply as I can, wishing with each lapping stroke that my tongue was doing me own pussy.
Suddenly Liez slams the dildo deep into me. I buck and pass into a shattering orgasm. She fucks me with long fast deep strokes. Her wrist slams my too sensitive clittie with each fuck into me. I continue to cum, rising higher and higher with each of her brutal fuck thrusts. I cum explosively for over five minutes, then I pass out . . . .
Liez sat with her hips on my chest to hold my upper body immobile, and her thighs and knees on each side. She was facing toward my legs, . . . and all that lies between.
I tend to get dizzy, even to the point of hurling if I move my head too fast since my operation. By holding me down like this, they were keeping my head from moving.
Then Lieza turned on the vibrator. Maybe I should describe this wonderful toy for you. It is a very dark brown color, and feels exactly like a man’s penis when you touch it. It is about 12 inches long, and about 3 inches in diameter. I cannot take the whole length of it, but the girth I enjoy more than I can describe in words. The vibrating head and shaft drive me absolutely wild.
Lieza holds the phallic shaft by its base, her hand wrapped around it. Drizzling the warm type of K-Y lubricant on the furrow of my pussy, she slowly rubs the large chocolate vibrating tip up and down my sensitivity. She never quite gets to the area around my clittie, but the vibrations on my randy flesh transmits somewhat to that most delicate of my parts. With each slow pass up and down my lips, she digs slightly deeper until I am squirming in need.
It has been so long! Way too long! I have not been without an orgasm for this long since my first husband died. Soon Lieza has the toy circling my opening. I can feel the wetness inside me filling the void that is my vagina.
Linda’s pussy is on my mouth, and I cannot keep myself from tonguing her as deeply as I can, wishing with each lapping stroke that my tongue was doing me own pussy.
Suddenly Liez slams the dildo deep into me. I buck and pass into a shattering orgasm. She fucks me with long fast deep strokes. Her wrist slams my too sensitive clittie with each fuck into me. I continue to cum, rising higher and higher with each of her brutal fuck thrusts. I cum explosively for over five minutes, then I pass out . . . .
Is God fair?
I have a wonderful man that I email back and forth with whose wife is having a very hard time medically. It made me start thinking about how some people, like Terry Shaivo, or my friend’s wife, seem to have such a hard time with things that "God's Miracles" could so easily handle, if God so chose.
I guess, in a religious sense, I can’t help wondering sometimes why does God torture some people like this.
The thing I learned when I died is that God is not the one that lets this happen to good people. This is the "Mother Nature System" that deals like this.
I read a sci-fi book once a long time ago in which the "space police" came back to earth after a millennia of being away. In the story the space police observed that we now protect those that would die if left to their own resources in the wild. The whole pretext of the story was that Mother Nature "eliminated" the less-than-perfects from the system, so the species "continue to improve."
For instance, I have to wear glasses. I cannot see far-away well. Been like this since second grade. So if I were in a hunter clan, I would be worthless, and quite possibly would be brought down by a lion or wolves. So my genes would not be replicated in a child and passed down through the ages.
I read the stories of the old testament in which God supposedly commanded the "chosen people" to kill every man, woman, child, and animal in a particular city when they conquered it. Knowing God as intimately as I do from my three trips to "heaven," I can tell you that he never gave that command to the "chosen people!" But never the less, we still let religion lead us down paths of horrible things. Like the Crusades. It appears God's solution to Mother Nature’s utter uncaring vicious cruelty is a civilization that, at least in this country, respects human life.
I guess, in a religious sense, I can’t help wondering sometimes why does God torture some people like this.
The thing I learned when I died is that God is not the one that lets this happen to good people. This is the "Mother Nature System" that deals like this.
I read a sci-fi book once a long time ago in which the "space police" came back to earth after a millennia of being away. In the story the space police observed that we now protect those that would die if left to their own resources in the wild. The whole pretext of the story was that Mother Nature "eliminated" the less-than-perfects from the system, so the species "continue to improve."
For instance, I have to wear glasses. I cannot see far-away well. Been like this since second grade. So if I were in a hunter clan, I would be worthless, and quite possibly would be brought down by a lion or wolves. So my genes would not be replicated in a child and passed down through the ages.
I read the stories of the old testament in which God supposedly commanded the "chosen people" to kill every man, woman, child, and animal in a particular city when they conquered it. Knowing God as intimately as I do from my three trips to "heaven," I can tell you that he never gave that command to the "chosen people!" But never the less, we still let religion lead us down paths of horrible things. Like the Crusades. It appears God's solution to Mother Nature’s utter uncaring vicious cruelty is a civilization that, at least in this country, respects human life.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Bald men, and Scalped, or Sunburned?
My hair was all shaved off when I had my brain revamped a couple of weeks ago. Now my hair is beginning to grow back in, but I have suffered from the same problem that most bald men do, I got a sunburn on my scalp. My peach fuzz did not protect my head. There appears to be less meltonin in a person's scalp than in their forehead or other parts of their body.
I learned that too late, so now I have a head that is continuously embarrassed above my scalp line.
I now empathize much more with bald men.
But my hair IS growing back, and I guess that makes me the envy of the bald men, or at least some of them.
Personally....................?
I like bald men. I like the way their scalp feels when they rub it on my private place. I can actually cum when those to parts of our anatomies touch and caress each other. Kind of like a monster phallus pleasing itself . . . and me.
Their scalp is so sensuously smooth. Now, I am not talking about men who deliberatly shave their hair off there. I am talking about men truly bald and hairless on their scalp. Making me wet thinking about this.
I learned that too late, so now I have a head that is continuously embarrassed above my scalp line.
I now empathize much more with bald men.
But my hair IS growing back, and I guess that makes me the envy of the bald men, or at least some of them.
Personally....................?
I like bald men. I like the way their scalp feels when they rub it on my private place. I can actually cum when those to parts of our anatomies touch and caress each other. Kind of like a monster phallus pleasing itself . . . and me.
Their scalp is so sensuously smooth. Now, I am not talking about men who deliberatly shave their hair off there. I am talking about men truly bald and hairless on their scalp. Making me wet thinking about this.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Friday Evening at the Whores Camp
What a weekend!
Lieza had been in camp for two days and nights already. I arrived on Friday evening. Lieza was grinning from ear to ear. Her hips had a sexy sashay to them as she strode toward me. We hugged for a long time. We had missed each other so much in her absence from my bed.
She began to tell me of her adventures.
Most of the men this year are married, as they were last year. All shapes and sizes, most over 40 years old. Lieza is only 25, so it was like being with all her uncles. There were only 18 men this year, they had been expecting 21. Lieza giggled as she told me she was ok with that, she had had nearly nonstop sex the first night anyway. The last one stumbled back to his tent about 5 AM Thursday morning. Then during the day she had four visitors. Thursday night they were again traipsing through about two an hour. They seemed to last longer Thursday night, so clearly their wives are not giving them enough sex at home.
Lieza raised her dress and showed me her pussy when we got to her trailer. She was doing really well. Her clittie was still extended (her hood is gone like mine is). I tweaked it as she kissed me again. I asked her if my married lover had been with her yet. She chuckled and said “No, not yet……. But he told me last night he would be in as soon as you get here!”
Sure enough, he came in as soon as he got back from his ride. He hugged me gently, kissed me, and then allowed Lieza to remove his cock from his trousers. She sucked him to hardness, then I guided his prick into her readiness. Lieza goes rigid when she cums, and it took only a few minutes. Having sex that often keeps a woman in a constant state of excitement. My hands made love to both of them till my lover exploded his juices into my gorgeous Lieza. We all lay together until dinner bell rang. Lieza did not even clean herself so that I could enjoy his sperm for desert.
The guys were so excited to see me. Lieza had told them all about my tumor. They were very gentle as they caressed my peach fuzz hair do. Several kissed my healing scar.
Then we had camp dinner catered by a great little gay caterer.
Then the party began!
Lieza had been in camp for two days and nights already. I arrived on Friday evening. Lieza was grinning from ear to ear. Her hips had a sexy sashay to them as she strode toward me. We hugged for a long time. We had missed each other so much in her absence from my bed.
She began to tell me of her adventures.
Most of the men this year are married, as they were last year. All shapes and sizes, most over 40 years old. Lieza is only 25, so it was like being with all her uncles. There were only 18 men this year, they had been expecting 21. Lieza giggled as she told me she was ok with that, she had had nearly nonstop sex the first night anyway. The last one stumbled back to his tent about 5 AM Thursday morning. Then during the day she had four visitors. Thursday night they were again traipsing through about two an hour. They seemed to last longer Thursday night, so clearly their wives are not giving them enough sex at home.
Lieza raised her dress and showed me her pussy when we got to her trailer. She was doing really well. Her clittie was still extended (her hood is gone like mine is). I tweaked it as she kissed me again. I asked her if my married lover had been with her yet. She chuckled and said “No, not yet……. But he told me last night he would be in as soon as you get here!”
Sure enough, he came in as soon as he got back from his ride. He hugged me gently, kissed me, and then allowed Lieza to remove his cock from his trousers. She sucked him to hardness, then I guided his prick into her readiness. Lieza goes rigid when she cums, and it took only a few minutes. Having sex that often keeps a woman in a constant state of excitement. My hands made love to both of them till my lover exploded his juices into my gorgeous Lieza. We all lay together until dinner bell rang. Lieza did not even clean herself so that I could enjoy his sperm for desert.
The guys were so excited to see me. Lieza had told them all about my tumor. They were very gentle as they caressed my peach fuzz hair do. Several kissed my healing scar.
Then we had camp dinner catered by a great little gay caterer.
Then the party began!
Thursday, June 16, 2005
A Woman's View of Sensuality
Lust! What makes me lust? Well, better yet, what makes me lust for a man?
It is his eyes, that see me for who I am!
His hands that touch me with reverence, tenderness, and caring!
Words that show he is listening to my inner needs.....
Shoulders that appear strong enough to carry me if I fell, or protect me when I am scared.
A heart that is not afraid to cry at a sad film, or cry when he is bursting with happiness, or cry when he sees me hurting.
Did you notice I did not talk about good looks, or wavy hair? Or even the size of his package?
Did you notice I didn't talk about skin color, or hair color, or how big his ears are?
It is his eyes, that see me for who I am!
His hands that touch me with reverence, tenderness, and caring!
Words that show he is listening to my inner needs.....
Shoulders that appear strong enough to carry me if I fell, or protect me when I am scared.
A heart that is not afraid to cry at a sad film, or cry when he is bursting with happiness, or cry when he sees me hurting.
Did you notice I did not talk about good looks, or wavy hair? Or even the size of his package?
Did you notice I didn't talk about skin color, or hair color, or how big his ears are?
Please Explain this to Me
OK, the suicide bombers are told they will go to the Islamic form of eternal bliss, where they will live forever, and they will have 40 virgins to have sex with. Right?
So let’s say they have sex with one virgin a week. After a week, that virgin is no longer a virgin. Right so far?
So they lay with the next virgin. In only 40 weeks they are out of virgins. Am I missing something? "Infinity" minus forty weeks is still an incredibly long time. Right? With me so far?
So they then have forty women to put up with. They can't get rid of them. They are stuck with these forty women for the rest of eternity.
What if the virgins are all ugly? Or have PMS most of the month, or have really bad breath? Or worse yet, what if they have bad gas? Or mothers that are incredibly rude? What man wants 40 mother-in-laws?
What man in his right mind would want to have to deal with that many women, everyone of them pissed at him because he flirted with some other of his no-longer-virgins? Not to mention all those mother-in-laws going through menopause.
So let’s say they have sex with one virgin a week. After a week, that virgin is no longer a virgin. Right so far?
So they lay with the next virgin. In only 40 weeks they are out of virgins. Am I missing something? "Infinity" minus forty weeks is still an incredibly long time. Right? With me so far?
So they then have forty women to put up with. They can't get rid of them. They are stuck with these forty women for the rest of eternity.
What if the virgins are all ugly? Or have PMS most of the month, or have really bad breath? Or worse yet, what if they have bad gas? Or mothers that are incredibly rude? What man wants 40 mother-in-laws?
What man in his right mind would want to have to deal with that many women, everyone of them pissed at him because he flirted with some other of his no-longer-virgins? Not to mention all those mother-in-laws going through menopause.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Whores Back Ride
My darling Lieza and I were supposed to go up to camp and be the camp whores starting today (Wednesday). We would have come back Sunday morning. There are about 21 men this year. 21 wonderful penises that need taking care of for four nights. And days. Truth be told, THEY took care of ME last year. And they took GOOD care of me!
Well, since I can't go due to my "problem" this year, Lieza gets them all to herself. Lieza is 25. Lieza works hard to keep that incredible body of hers perfect. The guys will go nuts, I have no doubt.
We both attended their annual dinner last winter. Lieza auditioned after dinner. We both had a great time. So did the guys.
So today Lieza took our trusty motorhome and headed for camp.
Damn I wish I was with her!
Well, since I can't go due to my "problem" this year, Lieza gets them all to herself. Lieza is 25. Lieza works hard to keep that incredible body of hers perfect. The guys will go nuts, I have no doubt.
We both attended their annual dinner last winter. Lieza auditioned after dinner. We both had a great time. So did the guys.
So today Lieza took our trusty motorhome and headed for camp.
Damn I wish I was with her!
Testicles, and their container.....such interesting bits of flesh
I'll tell you right up front, I like low riders. I like them to caress my furrows, my bottom when he is going in and out nice and slow. I like them to slap my bottom when he starts to lose control. I love them to slap my clit when he is inside my bottom.
Yeah, I love low riders. Soft, . . . wonderful to suck them into my mouth as I feel him rise. I love suckling on them as they roll about on my tongue. I love the soft clingy skin that caresses my lips as I move them about in my mouth.
I love the feeling of them being cradled in my hands as I take him into my mouth.
I love to feel them caress my wrists, my forearms, as I take his rigidness into my throat.
Low riders. Nice hangy balls that swing as he walks toward me, nude.
Low riders. Caressing my forehead as he thrusts into my mouth from over my head, plunging down my throat with such passion, screaming that he loves to fuck his slut’s mouth. Mmmmm, wish I could cum right now!
Yeah, I love low riders. Soft, . . . wonderful to suck them into my mouth as I feel him rise. I love suckling on them as they roll about on my tongue. I love the soft clingy skin that caresses my lips as I move them about in my mouth.
I love the feeling of them being cradled in my hands as I take him into my mouth.
I love to feel them caress my wrists, my forearms, as I take his rigidness into my throat.
Low riders. Nice hangy balls that swing as he walks toward me, nude.
Low riders. Caressing my forehead as he thrusts into my mouth from over my head, plunging down my throat with such passion, screaming that he loves to fuck his slut’s mouth. Mmmmm, wish I could cum right now!
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
This Women's Attitude About Sucking on a Penis
I have to admit to you right up front that I LOVE to suck on a man's penis. I love to catch him soft, and then, as he is in my mouth, feel him grow and expand and harden until he is literally ready to burst with pleasure. I love to watch his face, his eyes, as he watches me savor his package.
UNLESS . . . .
His ‘unit’ is dirty and/or smells bad!
So guys, if you want women to enjoy your cock, you have to keep it sparkling clean. Especially, you have to be sure your underwear does not have “skid marks” in it. Can you imagine what it would be like to lick our pussies if they were smeared with fecal material? Bad enough with just toilet paper on there!
Well, way too many of you guys have skid marks in your britches! Lets get it cleaned up, for goodness sake!
Shower before you ask us to enjoy you. And if you need help with how to keep the skid marks out of your shorts, let me know. Be glad to tell you! Wash your ass in the shower too! Wash it at least a finger's depth in. That way we can enjoy penetrating your bottom as we suckle.
After all, oral sex is often as good, or better, than penetrative sex! You know the old saying, “After you get past the smell, you got it licked!” Well, lets get rid of the smell first, . . . . then lets lick.
UNLESS . . . .
His ‘unit’ is dirty and/or smells bad!
So guys, if you want women to enjoy your cock, you have to keep it sparkling clean. Especially, you have to be sure your underwear does not have “skid marks” in it. Can you imagine what it would be like to lick our pussies if they were smeared with fecal material? Bad enough with just toilet paper on there!
Well, way too many of you guys have skid marks in your britches! Lets get it cleaned up, for goodness sake!
Shower before you ask us to enjoy you. And if you need help with how to keep the skid marks out of your shorts, let me know. Be glad to tell you! Wash your ass in the shower too! Wash it at least a finger's depth in. That way we can enjoy penetrating your bottom as we suckle.
After all, oral sex is often as good, or better, than penetrative sex! You know the old saying, “After you get past the smell, you got it licked!” Well, lets get rid of the smell first, . . . . then lets lick.
Using Fantasies
Been awhile since you and your lover made love? Having trouble with orgasm, can't cum before he does? Tired of trying to sleep after you got all hot and bothered only to have 'him' cum first then be unable to bring you the rest of the way?
The solution is fantasies. YOUR fantasies!
You say you don't have fantasies? Try reading a a sexy story, like the ones on http://www.Samarelart.com/adultstories.htm
And you can add touching yourself to help your libido rise.
Why do all of this? Because you love your man? Because you really would like to expereince an orgasm? Because you know that the human body is made to thirve best when it is orgasmic?
Orgasms lower your stress level, your blood pressure, your frustrations! Orgasm is good for you! God made you to HAVE orgasms. God designed you to be your best when you are a sexual creature.
In fact, that is one of the things that make humans different from animals!
The solution is fantasies. YOUR fantasies!
You say you don't have fantasies? Try reading a a sexy story, like the ones on http://www.Samarelart.com/adultstories.htm
And you can add touching yourself to help your libido rise.
Why do all of this? Because you love your man? Because you really would like to expereince an orgasm? Because you know that the human body is made to thirve best when it is orgasmic?
Orgasms lower your stress level, your blood pressure, your frustrations! Orgasm is good for you! God made you to HAVE orgasms. God designed you to be your best when you are a sexual creature.
In fact, that is one of the things that make humans different from animals!
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Living Your Fantasies 2
Be Careful What You Ask For
Copyright Deni Wom and Lieza Kominski 2005
His work day took forever to pass. At times he was certain it was already 5 o'clock, but his watch still said 9:30! "God, will this work day ever end?" he wondered.
Several times he invented a reason to visit the floor below, just to look at the man he had selected, . . . . perhaps “seduced” was the right word. Every time he snuck to the sheltering corner and peered around it, he had to slip quickly into the rest room to hide his turgid tumescence. He could not stop his hand from seductively coddling himself as he fantasized about the coming evening. But each time he would refuse to bring himself to fruition, knowing he only had so many “in him”, and he wanted all of them to be experienced at just the right time. He wanted to literally burst forth his issue when he could no longer stand to hold-it any longer. After ten years of fantasies, he was determined not to ruin this long awaited evening.
After her shower, she dressed as if she were to be picked up by her betrothed lover. Her carefully made up face, her fussed over hair, her clothing, all were selected to enhance that crucial first appearance.
She took the time to clean her ring so that it would sparkle on her left hand as she lay there. She rearranged the lighting just-so, so that at that crucial moment, her ring would be sparkling brightly like the prefect diamond it was.
She heard two cars pull up, then her husband talking to a deep voiced man. Nervously, she settled into the love seat to wait for the events to unfold.
“Sweetheart, this is Tyrone, the man I told you about. . . . . Tyrone, this is Lieza, my wife.”
Lieza stood, then shook the tall well built man’s hand softly, smiling at him, looking directly in to his eyes.
“You have a lovely wife, Jimmy!” Tyrone stepped back, smiled, then suddenly his face clouded over like the stern warnings of a stormy gale.
He stepped to her, grabbed her upper arm, then stared menacingly at Jimmy. “Get the fuck in the corner white boy! Git over there and stick your damn nose in that corner so tight I can’t even see you ears! NOW! Git!”
Jimmy was so taken aback by the huge man’s sudden change in demeanor that he stood there gawking open mouthed at the man as a huge black hand began to pull his small wife toward the stair way. Jimmy was frozen, unable to move.
Tyrone’s mammoth hand grabbed Jimmy’s shoulder, spinning him around and simultaneously shoving him rudely into the corner. Jimmy lost his balance, causing him to end up sliding into the corner on his behind.
“I catch you out of that corner before I tell you to come out I will kick your ass from here to Sunday! You hear me white-bread?”
“Y-y-y-y-y-yes Sir!” Jimmy feared he was going to soil his underwear. What had happened here? Tyrone was such a nice person at work! Jimmy’s heart was gong a million miles a minute. He realized he was shaking like a leaf in an autumn gale, he was so frightened. ‘Oh my god, what have I gotten Lieza into? Oh God, he is going to hurt her! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”
Jimmy started to turn to walk out of the corner to rescue his wife. He found himself slammed back into the corner, his cheeks pressed tightly against both walls.
He could feel Tyrone’s breath on his neck as Tyrone stood immediately behind, towering over him, talking barely above a whisper. “Look white-bread, you are the one that wants me here. YOU invited ME to come here and fuck your white wife with my big black cock, remember?” Jimmy nodded his head vigorously. “OK then, white-bread, I never told you YOU were going to be in there with me, now did I?" Jimmy frantically shook his head. “Alrighty then! As of now, YOUR bedroom has become MY bedroom. Now stay the fuck out of it while I fuck that pretty little white wife of yours.” Tyrone snickered. Then he added “White boy, your wife is trying black meat this evening. After she tires my black meat, she ain’t never coming back to your little white prick! You just watch and see little white boy!” Tyrone snickered again.
Jimmy could hear Tyrone guiding his wife up the stairs to their bedroom.
‘My god, that man is 250 pounds of pure muscle, there is no way I can do anything to protect Lieza!’ Jimmy crossed his legs to try and control his fear-induced diarrhea. He heard their bedroom door slam shut. It sounded like the end of his marriage to him.
Lieza turned to Tyrone, wrapping her arms around his well muscled neck, smiling at him, looking lovingly into his face.
“God baby, it has been soooo long.” Their mouths caressed each other with a familiarity of long time lovers.
“Already been a month sweet pea. Seems like a year, doesn’t it?” And then they were too busy too talk.
Naked, on her back, and holding him lovingly, she giggled, “Honey, we really should feed Jimmy's fantasy, don’t you think?”
Tyrone chuckled and replied, “Yeah, your right, go ahead and scream!” They both giggled again.
Lieza thought for a moment, then screamed “OHHHH GOD NO!!!!!!!!!! NOT BARE-BACK! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! PUT ON A CONDOM! PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE PUT ON A CONDOM! I AM FERTILE TODAY!”
Lieza guided his cock to her love canal, her heels urging Tyrone to enter her. Then she whispered “Open the door a bit so I don’t have to scream so loud honey.” Tyrone reached over and drew the door ajar.
“Ohhhh god, so fucking huge, oh god , oh god, HE IS SPLITTING ME OPEN!!!!!!!!!!!”
Again she pulled with her heels to urge Tyrone’s manhood to penetrate her. With slight difficulty, Tyrone’s black penis slid slowly into her body, traveling deeper and deeper onto her womb.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” OF FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH GOD! OH MY GOD! OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT! OH GOD he is so huge! Oh my god he is tearing me!”
After Tyrone had finally penetrated her to her limit, he began to slowly and lovingly fill and empty her grasping wetness.
“OOOOOOH GOOOOOOOOOOD he is going to cum in me! Oh god! Oh God, oh god!” Lieza began to lose control of her words as Tyrone pleasured her beyond any capacity of her husband. His thickness, his depth inside her, this was utter bliss.
Between gasps, Lieza, whispering, urged Tyrone to join her game of teasing her husband. Tyrone finally grinned and shouted “You hold still you fucking cunt! Hold that lil white pussy still so’s I can fuck it full ma black meat! You hold still now, I be goin ta fuck you full of black man’s cum, make a little black baby in ya for your white bread husband ta raise! Ya hear me now? I goin make ya pregnant with my lil black baby now!”
Lieza shrieked back “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Don’t cum in me! OH PLEASE SIR, PLEASE DON”T CUM IN ME!”
Tyrone fired back “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH GOD! I be so close to cummin inside your little white pussy! OH GOD! I be going to fertilize your lil white puss way down deep inside y’all now, right next a your lil cervix hole! Goin ta force feed that little womb a yours with my black sperm! Dat what I be going ta do! I goin force feed your little baby maker now!”
Jimmy decided he had to help his wife, even if it meant he would be badly hurt. He loved her too much to let this black brute hurt her like this. He worked hard to formulate a plan. Tip toeing around quietly, he found his riding crop, then snuck up the stairs, one stealthy tread at a time.
Jimmy’s wife had by now clearly begun to enjoy her black lover's prick. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhh ohhhhhhh god, oh god, oh god, this feels so good! OH god, oh god, yes! YES! YESSSSSSSSSSS! Oh god cum in me, cum in my cunt, shoot your black cum in my cunt! OHHHH fuck yes, OH GOD YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh god make me pregnant with your black baby, cum inside my body!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh god, please breed me black, please baby! Oh god, your cock feels so good so deep, so fucking oh god shit oh fuck piss oh god fuck, yes cum in meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!”
Jimmy heard his wife explode into the most incredible orgasm of her life.
Listening intently to his wife's gasps, mewls, and mutterings, Jimmy then heard Tyrone start to cum inside his wife’s fertile vagina. It seemed like the big man came for ten minutes as Jimmy stood there, mesmerized, on the top landing of the stair, too petrified to go closer!
Finally he could not stand it. Jimmy burst through the door, crop raised. The first thing he noticed was the brilliant sparkle of his wife’s wedding ring. Her hand was draped languidly, unmoving, over her lover's dark back, the ring facing directly at him. He stood there like a statue, captured by the sight of her ring, the symbol of her fidelity.
Tyrone glared at Jimmy as the poor befuddled white man stood there staring at his wife’s sparkling wedding ring. She was still panting from her stupendous orgasm she had had with another man, right there on their marital bed. Her eyes turned to Jimmy as she began to plead with him “Honey he came inside me! I couldn’t stop him from cumming inside me! Please baby, come lick his cummies out of my pussy! Lick them out before they make me pregnant baby! Please? Please baby?”
Tyrone lazily rolled over to the side of Jimmy’s wife, his long black cock draped over his wife’s white thigh. Sperm was still seeping from his cum hole.
But that was all it took. Jimmy dropped the riding crop on the bed then plunged face first into his wife’s fertile vagina, licking as deep as he could to rid her of this infestation of black cum. He did not even notice the sperm that began to coat his cheek as his face feverishly worked against the flaccid black cock head while he licked cum from within his wife’s hugely opened vagina. He barely felt the stings of the slap-slap-slap of the riding crop on his raised bum as Tyrone urged him on with his new husbandly duties between his wife’s lewdly spread, well pleasured thighs.
Copyright Deni Wom and Lieza Kominski 2005
His work day took forever to pass. At times he was certain it was already 5 o'clock, but his watch still said 9:30! "God, will this work day ever end?" he wondered.
Several times he invented a reason to visit the floor below, just to look at the man he had selected, . . . . perhaps “seduced” was the right word. Every time he snuck to the sheltering corner and peered around it, he had to slip quickly into the rest room to hide his turgid tumescence. He could not stop his hand from seductively coddling himself as he fantasized about the coming evening. But each time he would refuse to bring himself to fruition, knowing he only had so many “in him”, and he wanted all of them to be experienced at just the right time. He wanted to literally burst forth his issue when he could no longer stand to hold-it any longer. After ten years of fantasies, he was determined not to ruin this long awaited evening.
After her shower, she dressed as if she were to be picked up by her betrothed lover. Her carefully made up face, her fussed over hair, her clothing, all were selected to enhance that crucial first appearance.
She took the time to clean her ring so that it would sparkle on her left hand as she lay there. She rearranged the lighting just-so, so that at that crucial moment, her ring would be sparkling brightly like the prefect diamond it was.
She heard two cars pull up, then her husband talking to a deep voiced man. Nervously, she settled into the love seat to wait for the events to unfold.
“Sweetheart, this is Tyrone, the man I told you about. . . . . Tyrone, this is Lieza, my wife.”
Lieza stood, then shook the tall well built man’s hand softly, smiling at him, looking directly in to his eyes.
“You have a lovely wife, Jimmy!” Tyrone stepped back, smiled, then suddenly his face clouded over like the stern warnings of a stormy gale.
He stepped to her, grabbed her upper arm, then stared menacingly at Jimmy. “Get the fuck in the corner white boy! Git over there and stick your damn nose in that corner so tight I can’t even see you ears! NOW! Git!”
Jimmy was so taken aback by the huge man’s sudden change in demeanor that he stood there gawking open mouthed at the man as a huge black hand began to pull his small wife toward the stair way. Jimmy was frozen, unable to move.
Tyrone’s mammoth hand grabbed Jimmy’s shoulder, spinning him around and simultaneously shoving him rudely into the corner. Jimmy lost his balance, causing him to end up sliding into the corner on his behind.
“I catch you out of that corner before I tell you to come out I will kick your ass from here to Sunday! You hear me white-bread?”
“Y-y-y-y-y-yes Sir!” Jimmy feared he was going to soil his underwear. What had happened here? Tyrone was such a nice person at work! Jimmy’s heart was gong a million miles a minute. He realized he was shaking like a leaf in an autumn gale, he was so frightened. ‘Oh my god, what have I gotten Lieza into? Oh God, he is going to hurt her! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”
Jimmy started to turn to walk out of the corner to rescue his wife. He found himself slammed back into the corner, his cheeks pressed tightly against both walls.
He could feel Tyrone’s breath on his neck as Tyrone stood immediately behind, towering over him, talking barely above a whisper. “Look white-bread, you are the one that wants me here. YOU invited ME to come here and fuck your white wife with my big black cock, remember?” Jimmy nodded his head vigorously. “OK then, white-bread, I never told you YOU were going to be in there with me, now did I?" Jimmy frantically shook his head. “Alrighty then! As of now, YOUR bedroom has become MY bedroom. Now stay the fuck out of it while I fuck that pretty little white wife of yours.” Tyrone snickered. Then he added “White boy, your wife is trying black meat this evening. After she tires my black meat, she ain’t never coming back to your little white prick! You just watch and see little white boy!” Tyrone snickered again.
Jimmy could hear Tyrone guiding his wife up the stairs to their bedroom.
‘My god, that man is 250 pounds of pure muscle, there is no way I can do anything to protect Lieza!’ Jimmy crossed his legs to try and control his fear-induced diarrhea. He heard their bedroom door slam shut. It sounded like the end of his marriage to him.
Lieza turned to Tyrone, wrapping her arms around his well muscled neck, smiling at him, looking lovingly into his face.
“God baby, it has been soooo long.” Their mouths caressed each other with a familiarity of long time lovers.
“Already been a month sweet pea. Seems like a year, doesn’t it?” And then they were too busy too talk.
Naked, on her back, and holding him lovingly, she giggled, “Honey, we really should feed Jimmy's fantasy, don’t you think?”
Tyrone chuckled and replied, “Yeah, your right, go ahead and scream!” They both giggled again.
Lieza thought for a moment, then screamed “OHHHH GOD NO!!!!!!!!!! NOT BARE-BACK! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! PUT ON A CONDOM! PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE PUT ON A CONDOM! I AM FERTILE TODAY!”
Lieza guided his cock to her love canal, her heels urging Tyrone to enter her. Then she whispered “Open the door a bit so I don’t have to scream so loud honey.” Tyrone reached over and drew the door ajar.
“Ohhhh god, so fucking huge, oh god , oh god, HE IS SPLITTING ME OPEN!!!!!!!!!!!”
Again she pulled with her heels to urge Tyrone’s manhood to penetrate her. With slight difficulty, Tyrone’s black penis slid slowly into her body, traveling deeper and deeper onto her womb.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” OF FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH GOD! OH MY GOD! OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT! OH GOD he is so huge! Oh my god he is tearing me!”
After Tyrone had finally penetrated her to her limit, he began to slowly and lovingly fill and empty her grasping wetness.
“OOOOOOH GOOOOOOOOOOD he is going to cum in me! Oh god! Oh God, oh god!” Lieza began to lose control of her words as Tyrone pleasured her beyond any capacity of her husband. His thickness, his depth inside her, this was utter bliss.
Between gasps, Lieza, whispering, urged Tyrone to join her game of teasing her husband. Tyrone finally grinned and shouted “You hold still you fucking cunt! Hold that lil white pussy still so’s I can fuck it full ma black meat! You hold still now, I be goin ta fuck you full of black man’s cum, make a little black baby in ya for your white bread husband ta raise! Ya hear me now? I goin make ya pregnant with my lil black baby now!”
Lieza shrieked back “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Don’t cum in me! OH PLEASE SIR, PLEASE DON”T CUM IN ME!”
Tyrone fired back “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH GOD! I be so close to cummin inside your little white pussy! OH GOD! I be going to fertilize your lil white puss way down deep inside y’all now, right next a your lil cervix hole! Goin ta force feed that little womb a yours with my black sperm! Dat what I be going ta do! I goin force feed your little baby maker now!”
Jimmy decided he had to help his wife, even if it meant he would be badly hurt. He loved her too much to let this black brute hurt her like this. He worked hard to formulate a plan. Tip toeing around quietly, he found his riding crop, then snuck up the stairs, one stealthy tread at a time.
Jimmy’s wife had by now clearly begun to enjoy her black lover's prick. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhh ohhhhhhh god, oh god, oh god, this feels so good! OH god, oh god, yes! YES! YESSSSSSSSSSS! Oh god cum in me, cum in my cunt, shoot your black cum in my cunt! OHHHH fuck yes, OH GOD YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh god make me pregnant with your black baby, cum inside my body!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh god, please breed me black, please baby! Oh god, your cock feels so good so deep, so fucking oh god shit oh fuck piss oh god fuck, yes cum in meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!”
Jimmy heard his wife explode into the most incredible orgasm of her life.
Listening intently to his wife's gasps, mewls, and mutterings, Jimmy then heard Tyrone start to cum inside his wife’s fertile vagina. It seemed like the big man came for ten minutes as Jimmy stood there, mesmerized, on the top landing of the stair, too petrified to go closer!
Finally he could not stand it. Jimmy burst through the door, crop raised. The first thing he noticed was the brilliant sparkle of his wife’s wedding ring. Her hand was draped languidly, unmoving, over her lover's dark back, the ring facing directly at him. He stood there like a statue, captured by the sight of her ring, the symbol of her fidelity.
Tyrone glared at Jimmy as the poor befuddled white man stood there staring at his wife’s sparkling wedding ring. She was still panting from her stupendous orgasm she had had with another man, right there on their marital bed. Her eyes turned to Jimmy as she began to plead with him “Honey he came inside me! I couldn’t stop him from cumming inside me! Please baby, come lick his cummies out of my pussy! Lick them out before they make me pregnant baby! Please? Please baby?”
Tyrone lazily rolled over to the side of Jimmy’s wife, his long black cock draped over his wife’s white thigh. Sperm was still seeping from his cum hole.
But that was all it took. Jimmy dropped the riding crop on the bed then plunged face first into his wife’s fertile vagina, licking as deep as he could to rid her of this infestation of black cum. He did not even notice the sperm that began to coat his cheek as his face feverishly worked against the flaccid black cock head while he licked cum from within his wife’s hugely opened vagina. He barely felt the stings of the slap-slap-slap of the riding crop on his raised bum as Tyrone urged him on with his new husbandly duties between his wife’s lewdly spread, well pleasured thighs.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Living Your Fantasies
Be Careful What You Ask For
Copyright Deni Wom and Lieza Kominski 2005
“You know what they say, right?”
“What is that honey?”
“Be careful what you ask for, you might get it.”
He thought for awhile, then looked her in the eye and, from the very depths of his heart, said “I have thought about this for ten years honey. Ten years. I really, really, want to experience this. I really do.” He sat back and watched her face.
Her eyes watched his eyes watching her. They sat there for five full minutes, saying nothing, each searching the soul of the other.
Finally she shrugged her shoulders slightly. “OK, honey, go ahead, I will be here tonight when you get home.” She looked pensively down at her shoes as he tried to contain his joy. ‘At last!’ he thought, ‘at last!’
He made the required phone call on his cell phone on his way to work. His erection was painfully hard as he talked. He could scarcely contain himself when he hung up.
Copyright Deni Wom and Lieza Kominski 2005
“You know what they say, right?”
“What is that honey?”
“Be careful what you ask for, you might get it.”
He thought for awhile, then looked her in the eye and, from the very depths of his heart, said “I have thought about this for ten years honey. Ten years. I really, really, want to experience this. I really do.” He sat back and watched her face.
Her eyes watched his eyes watching her. They sat there for five full minutes, saying nothing, each searching the soul of the other.
Finally she shrugged her shoulders slightly. “OK, honey, go ahead, I will be here tonight when you get home.” She looked pensively down at her shoes as he tried to contain his joy. ‘At last!’ he thought, ‘at last!’
He made the required phone call on his cell phone on his way to work. His erection was painfully hard as he talked. He could scarcely contain himself when he hung up.
Friday, June 10, 2005
How did my hair turn white the first time? Part 4 Since I am Still Alive
Since I am Still Alive
Copyright Deni Wom 2003
Since I am still alive, I suppose I should make sure that I journal the rest of this story.
Wanda tells me that the first word I said when I woke up was “Shit.” I do remember that I was very unhappy to return from the place of Unquestioned Love that I had been visiting. This is actually my second trip to visit this wonderful place of acceptance.
About a week ago I had been talking to Joey, a cyber friend, about what it is like to die. I had explained that the best way to explain it is it is like a memory I have of my childhood. That particular day was my day in my childhood to be picked on by my four older brothers, my day in the barrel, so to speak. They had all been picking on me all day long. I was incredibly frustrated, put upon, and in a horribly petulent mood. I am sure we all remember how cruel children can be to each other. One of my brothers took an opportunity to push me down in the sharp course gravel of our lane. I scraped my hands, knees, cheek, even had gravel in my nose and ear. I was bleeding and crying and screaming at the top of my lungs. I felt totally unloved, unwanted, and cast out, alone.
At that moment my mother picked me up and held me in her arms, kissing me, hugging me tight, gently shushingme, and rocking me. Her arms were so loving and so protective. She and her arms were my new found security blanket, protection from the evil wiles of the world.
That is the closest I can come to describe the absolute feeling of unconditional love and acceptance that I felt both times that I died.
I suppose I should fill in the time between my “The Last Story” and now. Linda informs me that I did not send “My Last Story” out. I will send it out as part of this exchange. [Posted yesterday on this blog]
After you finish reading that chronicle, you will be certain that I was over the edge, and I was. The rumors of my demise are only slightly exaggerated. After writing it I again visited the internet café trying unsuccessfully to contact Mistress. I was successful in talking briefly to Harley, and told him I was trying to find a good home for Hubs. I remembered as I was talking to Harley that I have a brother that lived nearby. I signed off and drove to his house, arriving in pauper’s majesty in Maude, my trusty, dowdy, dusty motor home.
Taking Hubs, I rang the door bell and stood there waiting for my brother’s loving hugs.
Instead, he opened the door, stared coldly at me, and asked if he could help me. No hugs. I asked him if he would keep my dog. I introduced Hubs to him. There was no love or acceptance in his eyes.
He stood there squinting at me in the evening light. I realized he did not recognize me. The deterioration in my appearance crushed me as it snak in that even my own brother did not know me as I now appeared.
“Brucey, it’s me, your sister.”
Still no recognition. Just confusion caused by my familiar tone.
“It’s me, . . . . . Deni.”
“Oh! My GOD! . . . . . Deni! Come in, . . . . . god, I am so sorry! What in the hell has happened to you, come in here right now!” His belated hugs are loose and feel insincere to my shattered ego.
After my explanation that I am looking for a good home for Hubs, out of guilt he agrees to help me. Looking back, he was so blown away by my appearance that he was not processing very well.
I say my “Goodbye” to Hubs and to my brother. To me it was a final goodbye, to him, it probably flet like just the normal “See you later!"
Checking my gas gauge, I decide that I have enough fuel to arrive at my good friend, the lake, without filling up, and I head back up the road to my final destiny.
I arrive there past midnight and park, shut down, and make my way back to the bed. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling peaceful now that Hubs is taken care of.
Early morning, and the sun rises. The sunlight passes over me as I lie there waiting to make one more call to Jay. I feel certain that he will not take my call, but I have to give him the benefit of that doubt.
At about nine o’clock, I feel certain he would be awake, and most apt to take my call. My cell has good signal, and I dial, then push Send. It rings, . . . once . . . . twice, . . . . three times, four times, . . . . then the automatic message telling me that the number I called is not in range, or is turned off.
I lay my cell phone on the white sand of the beach, then wade slowly into the water. I am thinking, puzzling, as to why my previously loving, concerned, intelligent supportive husband would suddenly one day walk out of my life and refuse to talk to me or give me any sort of reason for his total rejection of me. I can think of nothing I have done to cause it. I can only therefore deduce that he no longer loves me or wants me.
The water is up to my neck now, and I lie back, the cold water just leaving enough of my face to remain above the water to breathe as I lie there in the lakes cold cradling arms of cool liquid comfort. The last bit of support I will need in this world, I smile at that comforting thought.
I wait patiently for my body temperature to lower to the point where I no longer am a burden to my mothering planet. I think of the highlights of my life. My friends Wanda, Linda, Karen, their support and concern for me, their wonderful friendship. I think about how they will miss me, but know that they are young and will pass on through their life without a lot of looking back.
I think about Abe, and Momma Jean, who delivered me from the hell I was living in with Fred, to a hell that I lived in without Fred. I think about Ge, and his influence in my process of learning about sex. I think and smile as I remember M, my neighbor, my confidant, the woman that breached my hymen after a long and laborious effort. I think about the good times we had together and smile as I think of how zany she is. I remember with great fondness my college lover who’s skin was so black that I used to anticipate the night when I would see his hand grasp my white breast, and his hand and fingers would be defined by the whiteness of my skin between and behind them.
I think about my recent experiences on the internet, my friend and lover Harley, and the women that he introduced me to, Amber, Cara, Tammy. Their growing friendship, and the fun we had ‘doing’ Harley together. I think of who I considered my new Mistress Cara, and her acceptance, then rejection of me. My last memory is of our conversation where, to my great surprise, I submitted to her dominance. The freedom I felt as I accepted her control of my life, even if it were to be long distance for a while.
After a blissful journey I visit the beloved place of Love. Again I float in bliss in the totally unquestioning loving embrace and the acceptance of my eternal soul.
I wake up to a sterile room, white, noisy with beeping equipment, rushing sounds, a face staring down at me that I do not recognize. It seems that face is screaming at me. I can not make out the voice, or its intent. I feel huge resentment at having been again ripped from the accepting arms of Love and thrown back into an uncaring world that has resoundingly rejected me, and does not value me, nor my life.
I watch a hand push the screaming face from my vision and see the angelic face of my Wanda. I feel her soft and comforting caress on my cheek. I see the tears in her eyes, on her cheeks. I feel her kiss on my lips. I vaguely realize that she has traveled a long distance to see me. I feel her love and realize that she is here because of it. I feel remorse at having put her through this.
I feel pain. My body throbs in pain. My heart aches at my loss of Jay. I am overwhelmed by grief at my loss. I feel Wanda wipe away my tears as they stream down the sides of my head and into my ears. My ears begin to itch, adding annoyance to my pain.
Why would any sane person do this to me, force me back into a life I have chosen to leave? Rip me from where I was loved only to thrust me back into a world that does not value life, does not care about mother nature, does not love it’s fellow man. This place that is not the creation of god, but the spoils of greedy man. I hate the person that did this to me with a seething passion I have not felt in a long, long time.
I again look into the loving eyes of Wanda. Her mouth is moving, and I realize she is telling me she loves me. I think about how I had thought it puppy love. I realize looking into her eyes, it is no longer puppy love, but a maturing and caring, dependable love.
Her caresses become welcome, but there is no way for me to respond, every surface of my aching body seems to be trussed up with wires and tubes.
I hear male voices, voices that seem oddly familiar to me in this strange sterile place filled with mostly unfriendly faces and pain. Out of t he corner of my eye, I look toward the door of the room and see my brother. He is allowed into the room, rushes to my bed and begs my forgiveness for not realizing what was transpiring. With my bionic arm I caress his hair and try to tell him to not worry, it had nothing to do with him. I look up to see other family members standing around my bed. I try to smile, but in truth it felt more like a grimace.
The pain thunders at me now, up close and personal. I revel in its control and brutality. It overshadows pain in my heart, and I appreciate that it is as it should be.
Wanda picks up the hospital phone and dials Linda. I hear her talking and relaying information, answering questions. She sets the phone beside me on the bed and tells me that Jay has inoperable cancer, and is only expected to live for a short while, perhaps only days.
I jump out of bed, tearing the stupid tubes and wires from me, ready to leave to go to his side as quickly as I possibly can. I collapse onto the floor, a heap of limbs, head, wires and tubes. They gather around and pick me up, then lay me back onto my prison of a bed.
The pain in my heart is now again worse that my physical torture. Why, Jay , why shut me out now when you know you need me so. Have I been such a terrible wife that I would bring you no comfort in your last days? Sounds and vision recede and I can only feel my heart breaking again, this time into the tiniest possible pieces.
That son of a bitch. How dare he disregard me this way. What is it I have done to make him feel this way toward me. I can think of nothing, . . . . nothing!
No answers. Just unbearable pain in my newly shattered heart.
The doctor that saved my life without asking me enters the room and the nurses kowtow to his presence. He sits beside me and then shoos everyone out except one nurse.
Wanda tells him that she is staying and that is that, take or leave it. Doctor Lifesaver is not happy, but I can see him warring within himself as to whether to demand his own ego staisfying preeminence, or to not create a scene in front of his staff and a lowly patient. He turns back to me and without even asking lifts the covers and begins to remove the bandages covering the remains of my womanhood. I slap his hands with my fettered arm and glare at him. His eyes look at me without apology and mutters he has to examine my injuries.
“Then ask me first, asshole. Do I look like someone who cannot talk to you?” My anger has brought my voice back, scratchy, thready, but back.
“Look lady, I saved your life, now you listen to…..”
”Look asshole, I didn’t ask you to, and I wish you hadn’t. Even that doesn’t mean that I have to let you molest me without asking.”
“Sorry, you’re right about that, Ms Wom. May I please examine your injuries?” His tone carries the resentment of my words and actions that is clear in his eyes.
I lie back down and struggle to move my legs apart. I watch him flinch from the smell, and the sight of my handiwork. I take pleasure in watching his revulsion of what I now am. I take pleasure in the proof that no man will ever want me again. The day is definitely improving.
The doctor and I continue to spar over what my course of treatment will be. I refuse to take pain medications, and only allow him to prescribe a partial infection recovery protocol. He is successful in his desire to treat the pneumonia that he says is a result of inhaling the water, and it staying in my lungs for so long.
It dawns on me that I may be here longer that I want, as I desperately want to attend Jay’s funeral should I still be alive. We discuss the minimum time that I will need to be in this stupid hospital.
I realize that I will probably have to simply get up and walk out if Jay dies before they will let me go. I am not concerned about the consequences, because I know my intentions once I have buried my beloved.
Wanda informs me that Linda (who is at the same time on the phone with her, and has been chatting with Mistress from my office computer) has asked me if I want to chat with Mistress. My heart again feels some faint hope for potential recovery, as Mistress now wishes to at least inquire about my health.
I nod my head at Wanda and an extended relayed chat begins about what Mistress may require of me. I again affirm my desire to be hers, but respectfully request that Wanda be allowed to live with me if she chooses. Mistress agrees to this and the conversation turns to the demented handiwork I had done in delusional hopes of finding favor with Mistress. She expresses displeasure at my doing this to myself without prior permission from her. She tells me that I must agree to do what Doctor Lifesaver wishes regarding this matter. I express dismay at her not wanting my sex to be closed to others, and I tell her of my desire to always carry a razor blade for that potential time when she might desire to use me there. I tell her that I will make the cut, she will not have to. Mistress does not change her mind, and so I eventually agree to her wishes.
Somewhere in the middle of these conversations, Doctor Lifesaver left shaking his head in disgust. ‘Mores the better, you fucking asshole’ I think.
Wanda’s loving face is a mask of concern. I shut my mind to it as best I can.
I refuse to take the painkiller that the nurse brings in. I have to become assertive to get the nurse to leave.
Wanda climbs onto my bed and spoons with me until I reach fitful sleep.
Doctor Lifesaver returns in the morning with his condescending attitude, and receives the same reception as the previous evening. I again refuse pain killers and will not reconsider my antibiotic treatment for my infection. He indicates my pneumonia is not improving. I thank him for his concern and request that my laptop computer be made available to me. He refuses to allow it.
A phone call. Wanda picks up. I see her body language turn guarded and yet excited. She turns to me and my expression must bear a question mark.
“Jay!!!!!!!!!!!?” She mouths! She arches her eyebrow in question.
Before I can again land in a heap on the floor, she rushes the phone to me. With my heart rate rising, my anxiety growing, I give Jay a piece of my mind at his uncaring attitude in a way that only a wife can berate a husband. I ask why he has decided to deprive me of the joy of spending the last few hours I can with him. He mumbles something about not wanting to hurt me……………………!!!!! I cannot comprehend his attitude.
When I wake up from my hyperventilation, I spit a torrent of wrath into the mouth piece (I am still wondering how I could have called him those names.) Wanda tells me laterthat my tirade lasted for over ten minutes . The result was that Jay started crying, I started crying, the nurses joined Wanda in crying, and we all had a badly needed stress relieving episode of PMS.
Following my emotional outburst, we started talking about him, his disease, his prognosis, and what we can do while he is still in this world. I reiterate how wonderful it is to die, and he asks many questions about my experiences.
An hour later, through my grinding stress induced headache, I tell him that I will be there before he dies, not to worry, that I will hold him during his last breath. He cries and I cry and we finally hang up as he is too weak to hold the phone any longer.
The kindly doctor arrives a short time later and I volunteer to go on the antibiotics and aggressively question the befuddled, startled man about the best protocols to free me from this place.
I suspect he thought he was in the wrong hospital room.
I cooperate in taking pain medications and sleeping aids, and the shift nurse leaves my room shaking her head in disbelief.
She may have been disappointed in my easy going attitude.
It feels strange to sleep with hope. The meals cause my stomach to feel uncomfortably full, even though I eat small portions. I enquire of the shift nurse if I can use my laptop today if I cooperate with her. She promises to ask the doctor, fearing giving me a negative response. She is getting to know me, I guess.
The doctor arrives with another man that is introduced as a psychologist. I suggest that he talk to my therapist in my home town regarding my past and my phobia. He agrees to do so and leaves the room with the phone number (ten years of meetings has left me with his phone number deeply embedded.)
He reappears a half hour later carrying a sheaf of faxed papers that he places on my bed and begins to read through them. He asks questions as he reads, and I do my best to answer them fully and completely.
At the end of the session I again request the ability to journal in my laptop. He tells me no, and it brings out the aggressor in me. I think he was totally taken aback by my instant change in demeanor. He finally agrees to call my therapist again, as well as consult with Doc Lifesaver. An hour later Wanda is allowed to retrieve my computer from Maude. I feel like I finally have a second close and trusted friend in the room when I hear it sing its turn-on song.
I am sure that anyone can guess what I have been doing since it’s arrival. Wanda sits in a chair behind me and reads what I type, sometimes asking questions about my writings. She begins to ask me questions about Mistress, and our instantaneously blossomed relationship. I try to explain why I feel as I do about her, but I have not really thought it through enough to be sure about my feelings either.
I can sense Wanda’s misgiving about Mistress. I look at her beautiful face and tell her that I love her, that I understand her having misgivings about this very new and, shall I say, odd change in my normal somewhat dominant character. I promise her that it is strange, and untested, and that I will be careful as I explore this new relationship with Mistress.
I can see that Wanda is not convinced, but she merely nods as I turn back to my typing.
In an excited voice, Wanda tells me that Linda and Karen are driving down to see me, and to stay with me for a few days. My heart quickens at having our little clique together again, the four musketeers. I give Wanda one of my infrequent smiles and she beams back at me with great pleasure at having seen my teeth appear within a smile. She tells me it is the first time she has seen them since my stupidity started.
Linda and Karen arrive in the evening and I have enough tubes and wires removed by now that I can embrace their welcome faces. We all have a group hug, a good cry, and then we settle down and start plotting my escape from Alcatraz Hospital.
Much of the evening is spent with one or the other of them petting my goose down of a hair do. They all tell me repeatedly how cute it is, and I decide that these woman are not good enough liars to be insincere about this. I notice too that my body is beginning to firm up, now that I am drinking liquids and eating again.
Sunday morning brings the showdown between the hospital staff and we four musketeers.
The musketeers win the verbal fencing match of course, and we begin the load-up process to take me home to my Jay. I am startled by the wonderful feelings of hope I have welling up inside me.
Copyright Deni Wom 2003
Since I am still alive, I suppose I should make sure that I journal the rest of this story.
Wanda tells me that the first word I said when I woke up was “Shit.” I do remember that I was very unhappy to return from the place of Unquestioned Love that I had been visiting. This is actually my second trip to visit this wonderful place of acceptance.
About a week ago I had been talking to Joey, a cyber friend, about what it is like to die. I had explained that the best way to explain it is it is like a memory I have of my childhood. That particular day was my day in my childhood to be picked on by my four older brothers, my day in the barrel, so to speak. They had all been picking on me all day long. I was incredibly frustrated, put upon, and in a horribly petulent mood. I am sure we all remember how cruel children can be to each other. One of my brothers took an opportunity to push me down in the sharp course gravel of our lane. I scraped my hands, knees, cheek, even had gravel in my nose and ear. I was bleeding and crying and screaming at the top of my lungs. I felt totally unloved, unwanted, and cast out, alone.
At that moment my mother picked me up and held me in her arms, kissing me, hugging me tight, gently shushingme, and rocking me. Her arms were so loving and so protective. She and her arms were my new found security blanket, protection from the evil wiles of the world.
That is the closest I can come to describe the absolute feeling of unconditional love and acceptance that I felt both times that I died.
I suppose I should fill in the time between my “The Last Story” and now. Linda informs me that I did not send “My Last Story” out. I will send it out as part of this exchange. [Posted yesterday on this blog]
After you finish reading that chronicle, you will be certain that I was over the edge, and I was. The rumors of my demise are only slightly exaggerated. After writing it I again visited the internet café trying unsuccessfully to contact Mistress. I was successful in talking briefly to Harley, and told him I was trying to find a good home for Hubs. I remembered as I was talking to Harley that I have a brother that lived nearby. I signed off and drove to his house, arriving in pauper’s majesty in Maude, my trusty, dowdy, dusty motor home.
Taking Hubs, I rang the door bell and stood there waiting for my brother’s loving hugs.
Instead, he opened the door, stared coldly at me, and asked if he could help me. No hugs. I asked him if he would keep my dog. I introduced Hubs to him. There was no love or acceptance in his eyes.
He stood there squinting at me in the evening light. I realized he did not recognize me. The deterioration in my appearance crushed me as it snak in that even my own brother did not know me as I now appeared.
“Brucey, it’s me, your sister.”
Still no recognition. Just confusion caused by my familiar tone.
“It’s me, . . . . . Deni.”
“Oh! My GOD! . . . . . Deni! Come in, . . . . . god, I am so sorry! What in the hell has happened to you, come in here right now!” His belated hugs are loose and feel insincere to my shattered ego.
After my explanation that I am looking for a good home for Hubs, out of guilt he agrees to help me. Looking back, he was so blown away by my appearance that he was not processing very well.
I say my “Goodbye” to Hubs and to my brother. To me it was a final goodbye, to him, it probably flet like just the normal “See you later!"
Checking my gas gauge, I decide that I have enough fuel to arrive at my good friend, the lake, without filling up, and I head back up the road to my final destiny.
I arrive there past midnight and park, shut down, and make my way back to the bed. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling peaceful now that Hubs is taken care of.
Early morning, and the sun rises. The sunlight passes over me as I lie there waiting to make one more call to Jay. I feel certain that he will not take my call, but I have to give him the benefit of that doubt.
At about nine o’clock, I feel certain he would be awake, and most apt to take my call. My cell has good signal, and I dial, then push Send. It rings, . . . once . . . . twice, . . . . three times, four times, . . . . then the automatic message telling me that the number I called is not in range, or is turned off.
I lay my cell phone on the white sand of the beach, then wade slowly into the water. I am thinking, puzzling, as to why my previously loving, concerned, intelligent supportive husband would suddenly one day walk out of my life and refuse to talk to me or give me any sort of reason for his total rejection of me. I can think of nothing I have done to cause it. I can only therefore deduce that he no longer loves me or wants me.
The water is up to my neck now, and I lie back, the cold water just leaving enough of my face to remain above the water to breathe as I lie there in the lakes cold cradling arms of cool liquid comfort. The last bit of support I will need in this world, I smile at that comforting thought.
I wait patiently for my body temperature to lower to the point where I no longer am a burden to my mothering planet. I think of the highlights of my life. My friends Wanda, Linda, Karen, their support and concern for me, their wonderful friendship. I think about how they will miss me, but know that they are young and will pass on through their life without a lot of looking back.
I think about Abe, and Momma Jean, who delivered me from the hell I was living in with Fred, to a hell that I lived in without Fred. I think about Ge, and his influence in my process of learning about sex. I think and smile as I remember M, my neighbor, my confidant, the woman that breached my hymen after a long and laborious effort. I think about the good times we had together and smile as I think of how zany she is. I remember with great fondness my college lover who’s skin was so black that I used to anticipate the night when I would see his hand grasp my white breast, and his hand and fingers would be defined by the whiteness of my skin between and behind them.
I think about my recent experiences on the internet, my friend and lover Harley, and the women that he introduced me to, Amber, Cara, Tammy. Their growing friendship, and the fun we had ‘doing’ Harley together. I think of who I considered my new Mistress Cara, and her acceptance, then rejection of me. My last memory is of our conversation where, to my great surprise, I submitted to her dominance. The freedom I felt as I accepted her control of my life, even if it were to be long distance for a while.
After a blissful journey I visit the beloved place of Love. Again I float in bliss in the totally unquestioning loving embrace and the acceptance of my eternal soul.
I wake up to a sterile room, white, noisy with beeping equipment, rushing sounds, a face staring down at me that I do not recognize. It seems that face is screaming at me. I can not make out the voice, or its intent. I feel huge resentment at having been again ripped from the accepting arms of Love and thrown back into an uncaring world that has resoundingly rejected me, and does not value me, nor my life.
I watch a hand push the screaming face from my vision and see the angelic face of my Wanda. I feel her soft and comforting caress on my cheek. I see the tears in her eyes, on her cheeks. I feel her kiss on my lips. I vaguely realize that she has traveled a long distance to see me. I feel her love and realize that she is here because of it. I feel remorse at having put her through this.
I feel pain. My body throbs in pain. My heart aches at my loss of Jay. I am overwhelmed by grief at my loss. I feel Wanda wipe away my tears as they stream down the sides of my head and into my ears. My ears begin to itch, adding annoyance to my pain.
Why would any sane person do this to me, force me back into a life I have chosen to leave? Rip me from where I was loved only to thrust me back into a world that does not value life, does not care about mother nature, does not love it’s fellow man. This place that is not the creation of god, but the spoils of greedy man. I hate the person that did this to me with a seething passion I have not felt in a long, long time.
I again look into the loving eyes of Wanda. Her mouth is moving, and I realize she is telling me she loves me. I think about how I had thought it puppy love. I realize looking into her eyes, it is no longer puppy love, but a maturing and caring, dependable love.
Her caresses become welcome, but there is no way for me to respond, every surface of my aching body seems to be trussed up with wires and tubes.
I hear male voices, voices that seem oddly familiar to me in this strange sterile place filled with mostly unfriendly faces and pain. Out of t he corner of my eye, I look toward the door of the room and see my brother. He is allowed into the room, rushes to my bed and begs my forgiveness for not realizing what was transpiring. With my bionic arm I caress his hair and try to tell him to not worry, it had nothing to do with him. I look up to see other family members standing around my bed. I try to smile, but in truth it felt more like a grimace.
The pain thunders at me now, up close and personal. I revel in its control and brutality. It overshadows pain in my heart, and I appreciate that it is as it should be.
Wanda picks up the hospital phone and dials Linda. I hear her talking and relaying information, answering questions. She sets the phone beside me on the bed and tells me that Jay has inoperable cancer, and is only expected to live for a short while, perhaps only days.
I jump out of bed, tearing the stupid tubes and wires from me, ready to leave to go to his side as quickly as I possibly can. I collapse onto the floor, a heap of limbs, head, wires and tubes. They gather around and pick me up, then lay me back onto my prison of a bed.
The pain in my heart is now again worse that my physical torture. Why, Jay , why shut me out now when you know you need me so. Have I been such a terrible wife that I would bring you no comfort in your last days? Sounds and vision recede and I can only feel my heart breaking again, this time into the tiniest possible pieces.
That son of a bitch. How dare he disregard me this way. What is it I have done to make him feel this way toward me. I can think of nothing, . . . . nothing!
No answers. Just unbearable pain in my newly shattered heart.
The doctor that saved my life without asking me enters the room and the nurses kowtow to his presence. He sits beside me and then shoos everyone out except one nurse.
Wanda tells him that she is staying and that is that, take or leave it. Doctor Lifesaver is not happy, but I can see him warring within himself as to whether to demand his own ego staisfying preeminence, or to not create a scene in front of his staff and a lowly patient. He turns back to me and without even asking lifts the covers and begins to remove the bandages covering the remains of my womanhood. I slap his hands with my fettered arm and glare at him. His eyes look at me without apology and mutters he has to examine my injuries.
“Then ask me first, asshole. Do I look like someone who cannot talk to you?” My anger has brought my voice back, scratchy, thready, but back.
“Look lady, I saved your life, now you listen to…..”
”Look asshole, I didn’t ask you to, and I wish you hadn’t. Even that doesn’t mean that I have to let you molest me without asking.”
“Sorry, you’re right about that, Ms Wom. May I please examine your injuries?” His tone carries the resentment of my words and actions that is clear in his eyes.
I lie back down and struggle to move my legs apart. I watch him flinch from the smell, and the sight of my handiwork. I take pleasure in watching his revulsion of what I now am. I take pleasure in the proof that no man will ever want me again. The day is definitely improving.
The doctor and I continue to spar over what my course of treatment will be. I refuse to take pain medications, and only allow him to prescribe a partial infection recovery protocol. He is successful in his desire to treat the pneumonia that he says is a result of inhaling the water, and it staying in my lungs for so long.
It dawns on me that I may be here longer that I want, as I desperately want to attend Jay’s funeral should I still be alive. We discuss the minimum time that I will need to be in this stupid hospital.
I realize that I will probably have to simply get up and walk out if Jay dies before they will let me go. I am not concerned about the consequences, because I know my intentions once I have buried my beloved.
Wanda informs me that Linda (who is at the same time on the phone with her, and has been chatting with Mistress from my office computer) has asked me if I want to chat with Mistress. My heart again feels some faint hope for potential recovery, as Mistress now wishes to at least inquire about my health.
I nod my head at Wanda and an extended relayed chat begins about what Mistress may require of me. I again affirm my desire to be hers, but respectfully request that Wanda be allowed to live with me if she chooses. Mistress agrees to this and the conversation turns to the demented handiwork I had done in delusional hopes of finding favor with Mistress. She expresses displeasure at my doing this to myself without prior permission from her. She tells me that I must agree to do what Doctor Lifesaver wishes regarding this matter. I express dismay at her not wanting my sex to be closed to others, and I tell her of my desire to always carry a razor blade for that potential time when she might desire to use me there. I tell her that I will make the cut, she will not have to. Mistress does not change her mind, and so I eventually agree to her wishes.
Somewhere in the middle of these conversations, Doctor Lifesaver left shaking his head in disgust. ‘Mores the better, you fucking asshole’ I think.
Wanda’s loving face is a mask of concern. I shut my mind to it as best I can.
I refuse to take the painkiller that the nurse brings in. I have to become assertive to get the nurse to leave.
Wanda climbs onto my bed and spoons with me until I reach fitful sleep.
Doctor Lifesaver returns in the morning with his condescending attitude, and receives the same reception as the previous evening. I again refuse pain killers and will not reconsider my antibiotic treatment for my infection. He indicates my pneumonia is not improving. I thank him for his concern and request that my laptop computer be made available to me. He refuses to allow it.
A phone call. Wanda picks up. I see her body language turn guarded and yet excited. She turns to me and my expression must bear a question mark.
“Jay!!!!!!!!!!!?” She mouths! She arches her eyebrow in question.
Before I can again land in a heap on the floor, she rushes the phone to me. With my heart rate rising, my anxiety growing, I give Jay a piece of my mind at his uncaring attitude in a way that only a wife can berate a husband. I ask why he has decided to deprive me of the joy of spending the last few hours I can with him. He mumbles something about not wanting to hurt me……………………!!!!! I cannot comprehend his attitude.
When I wake up from my hyperventilation, I spit a torrent of wrath into the mouth piece (I am still wondering how I could have called him those names.) Wanda tells me laterthat my tirade lasted for over ten minutes . The result was that Jay started crying, I started crying, the nurses joined Wanda in crying, and we all had a badly needed stress relieving episode of PMS.
Following my emotional outburst, we started talking about him, his disease, his prognosis, and what we can do while he is still in this world. I reiterate how wonderful it is to die, and he asks many questions about my experiences.
An hour later, through my grinding stress induced headache, I tell him that I will be there before he dies, not to worry, that I will hold him during his last breath. He cries and I cry and we finally hang up as he is too weak to hold the phone any longer.
The kindly doctor arrives a short time later and I volunteer to go on the antibiotics and aggressively question the befuddled, startled man about the best protocols to free me from this place.
I suspect he thought he was in the wrong hospital room.
I cooperate in taking pain medications and sleeping aids, and the shift nurse leaves my room shaking her head in disbelief.
She may have been disappointed in my easy going attitude.
It feels strange to sleep with hope. The meals cause my stomach to feel uncomfortably full, even though I eat small portions. I enquire of the shift nurse if I can use my laptop today if I cooperate with her. She promises to ask the doctor, fearing giving me a negative response. She is getting to know me, I guess.
The doctor arrives with another man that is introduced as a psychologist. I suggest that he talk to my therapist in my home town regarding my past and my phobia. He agrees to do so and leaves the room with the phone number (ten years of meetings has left me with his phone number deeply embedded.)
He reappears a half hour later carrying a sheaf of faxed papers that he places on my bed and begins to read through them. He asks questions as he reads, and I do my best to answer them fully and completely.
At the end of the session I again request the ability to journal in my laptop. He tells me no, and it brings out the aggressor in me. I think he was totally taken aback by my instant change in demeanor. He finally agrees to call my therapist again, as well as consult with Doc Lifesaver. An hour later Wanda is allowed to retrieve my computer from Maude. I feel like I finally have a second close and trusted friend in the room when I hear it sing its turn-on song.
I am sure that anyone can guess what I have been doing since it’s arrival. Wanda sits in a chair behind me and reads what I type, sometimes asking questions about my writings. She begins to ask me questions about Mistress, and our instantaneously blossomed relationship. I try to explain why I feel as I do about her, but I have not really thought it through enough to be sure about my feelings either.
I can sense Wanda’s misgiving about Mistress. I look at her beautiful face and tell her that I love her, that I understand her having misgivings about this very new and, shall I say, odd change in my normal somewhat dominant character. I promise her that it is strange, and untested, and that I will be careful as I explore this new relationship with Mistress.
I can see that Wanda is not convinced, but she merely nods as I turn back to my typing.
In an excited voice, Wanda tells me that Linda and Karen are driving down to see me, and to stay with me for a few days. My heart quickens at having our little clique together again, the four musketeers. I give Wanda one of my infrequent smiles and she beams back at me with great pleasure at having seen my teeth appear within a smile. She tells me it is the first time she has seen them since my stupidity started.
Linda and Karen arrive in the evening and I have enough tubes and wires removed by now that I can embrace their welcome faces. We all have a group hug, a good cry, and then we settle down and start plotting my escape from Alcatraz Hospital.
Much of the evening is spent with one or the other of them petting my goose down of a hair do. They all tell me repeatedly how cute it is, and I decide that these woman are not good enough liars to be insincere about this. I notice too that my body is beginning to firm up, now that I am drinking liquids and eating again.
Sunday morning brings the showdown between the hospital staff and we four musketeers.
The musketeers win the verbal fencing match of course, and we begin the load-up process to take me home to my Jay. I am startled by the wonderful feelings of hope I have welling up inside me.
Sweet sweet home!
Home at last from hospital!
Thank you again to all of you who emailed me and encouraged me. It helped so much to know that you were pulling for me.
Being able to have my laptop the last day or so also was a big help, being able to do something besides lie there and watch incredibly trite soap operas and late night drivel.
I am moving slow so that my brains don't leak out of the hole in my head. But it feels so good to be in my own little bed. Not so little actually, we all sleep together. Before Liz got married there were four of us in our dog pile, unless we had a few men here too........................... then there were more. The poor men usually ended up crawling out of the bedroom! Maybe they didn't get a enough sleep when they were here?
Hugs to my lovers and friends from this bald woman, Deni the cue ball
Thank you again to all of you who emailed me and encouraged me. It helped so much to know that you were pulling for me.
Being able to have my laptop the last day or so also was a big help, being able to do something besides lie there and watch incredibly trite soap operas and late night drivel.
I am moving slow so that my brains don't leak out of the hole in my head. But it feels so good to be in my own little bed. Not so little actually, we all sleep together. Before Liz got married there were four of us in our dog pile, unless we had a few men here too........................... then there were more. The poor men usually ended up crawling out of the bedroom! Maybe they didn't get a enough sleep when they were here?
Hugs to my lovers and friends from this bald woman, Deni the cue ball
Thursday, June 09, 2005
How did I lose my hair the first time? Part 3 My Last Story
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.
My Last Story
Copyright Deni Wom 2003
I awake so deeply disappointed. But I realize it is not their fault, his fault. I miss my husband more than I miss life, and I wonder why he has no longer desired me. I am no longer his friend. I am no longer his confidant. I am no longer his lover. He no longer trusts me. Why I do not know.
His thrust-upon silence, the wall between, not surmountable. His refusal to talk is simply not understandable. His actions are so out of character. His lack of trust are not the same him. His refusal to explain his actions is beyond mystifying.
And my Kara, my Mistress, accepted me, yet now she discards me. She told me to be ready, gave a time. I failed to meet it, but can I not say that I tried? The lines were long. Their needs to contact loved ones were as great as mine, I think. Could I, should I, have been more greedy, pushed, shoved, yelled? It is not really in me now to do that. Maybe once, but not now. I am meek now, unimportant. He does not want me, how can I have the confidence to demand, to take?
And so the evening went, standing in line, making unwanted small talk. Learning the problems and lives of others, trivial they seem to me. Logging on, reaching out, wanting a small hand to touch, to hold, to want me. It is not there. It is not offered. I have not pleased her. I have given myself to her safe keeping, but the gift of me is not wanted, not desired, not desirable.
I am old now, ugly, without qualities. Not suited for mating or even using, it seems. I am no longer needed. Is it fair of me then to use the precious resources of this dwindling, burgeoning earth. Is it not time then to return my borrowed minerals and water to oblivion. To say thank you to mother earth for my brief borrowing?
It is.
The World dims from view,
And silence descends around me.
Old friends retreat to their distance
And my hearts stills to quiet.
The softening hurts of yesteryear
Are no more in mind,
I feel no pain, no presence, no fear
And the silence welcomes me.
The watery world of silence
Is so welcome, such a friend.
My heart reaches for the place of Love
A place where I feel no pain.
I rest from my tears.
Goodbye Jay, God go with you, My life………..
My Last Story
Copyright Deni Wom 2003
I awake so deeply disappointed. But I realize it is not their fault, his fault. I miss my husband more than I miss life, and I wonder why he has no longer desired me. I am no longer his friend. I am no longer his confidant. I am no longer his lover. He no longer trusts me. Why I do not know.
His thrust-upon silence, the wall between, not surmountable. His refusal to talk is simply not understandable. His actions are so out of character. His lack of trust are not the same him. His refusal to explain his actions is beyond mystifying.
And my Kara, my Mistress, accepted me, yet now she discards me. She told me to be ready, gave a time. I failed to meet it, but can I not say that I tried? The lines were long. Their needs to contact loved ones were as great as mine, I think. Could I, should I, have been more greedy, pushed, shoved, yelled? It is not really in me now to do that. Maybe once, but not now. I am meek now, unimportant. He does not want me, how can I have the confidence to demand, to take?
And so the evening went, standing in line, making unwanted small talk. Learning the problems and lives of others, trivial they seem to me. Logging on, reaching out, wanting a small hand to touch, to hold, to want me. It is not there. It is not offered. I have not pleased her. I have given myself to her safe keeping, but the gift of me is not wanted, not desired, not desirable.
I am old now, ugly, without qualities. Not suited for mating or even using, it seems. I am no longer needed. Is it fair of me then to use the precious resources of this dwindling, burgeoning earth. Is it not time then to return my borrowed minerals and water to oblivion. To say thank you to mother earth for my brief borrowing?
It is.
The World dims from view,
And silence descends around me.
Old friends retreat to their distance
And my hearts stills to quiet.
The softening hurts of yesteryear
Are no more in mind,
I feel no pain, no presence, no fear
And the silence welcomes me.
The watery world of silence
Is so welcome, such a friend.
My heart reaches for the place of Love
A place where I feel no pain.
I rest from my tears.
Goodbye Jay, God go with you, My life………..
My head has a hole in it
Well, they removed the parts from inside my brain box that didn't belong, they tell me. It was a rather large bit of unwelcome matter it seems.
A deep and sincere, grateful thank you to all of you out there that sent me love and prayed for me. I wish there were some way to tell you how much it meant to me. I cannot find the words. So please let my tears of gratitude express it for me.
I am told I will be going home tomorrow. I am ambulatory. And my head actually hurts less now than before the surgery. I guess that means something.
As the world turns……………..
A deep and sincere, grateful thank you to all of you out there that sent me love and prayed for me. I wish there were some way to tell you how much it meant to me. I cannot find the words. So please let my tears of gratitude express it for me.
I am told I will be going home tomorrow. I am ambulatory. And my head actually hurts less now than before the surgery. I guess that means something.
As the world turns……………..
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
A fear filled evening
Tomorrow I go to hospital for futher tests, and possibly even surgery, depending on what the tests show.
I am scared.
Not about dying. I have done that enough already that I look forward to being back with God.
I am concerned about losing some of me. Losing some of my personality, of my vision, my hearing, my coordination, things like that.
Quality of life is far more important to me than quantity.
I know that I will be bald, my hair removal is a part of getting me ready to do a biopsy of my brain.
My hair is a large part of who I am. I don't know why, but it is. It is already snow white. That is hard enough to accept for a 41 year old woman. But to be bald, totally bald . . . . again . . . wow . . . .
Last time, when I whacked it off myself, Lieza and Linda kept caressing my hair as it grew back in. They told me it was like touching a tiny chick. They called my hair chicken feathers. It stuck straight out of my head like the fine feathers on a little Easter Chicken. They liked it, they giggled and caressed my head as we sat on the couch and talked.
I guess I will keep that thought in my head as they shave my head tomorrow.
I am scared.
Not about dying. I have done that enough already that I look forward to being back with God.
I am concerned about losing some of me. Losing some of my personality, of my vision, my hearing, my coordination, things like that.
Quality of life is far more important to me than quantity.
I know that I will be bald, my hair removal is a part of getting me ready to do a biopsy of my brain.
My hair is a large part of who I am. I don't know why, but it is. It is already snow white. That is hard enough to accept for a 41 year old woman. But to be bald, totally bald . . . . again . . . wow . . . .
Last time, when I whacked it off myself, Lieza and Linda kept caressing my hair as it grew back in. They told me it was like touching a tiny chick. They called my hair chicken feathers. It stuck straight out of my head like the fine feathers on a little Easter Chicken. They liked it, they giggled and caressed my head as we sat on the couch and talked.
I guess I will keep that thought in my head as they shave my head tomorrow.
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.
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.
Looking for Mr. Perfect
My how time flies! It is closing on three years since my wonderful husband passed away from cancer. I have to admit the pain is less fresh than it was when back then when I was writing the story of my going nuts. If you have chosen to read those stories (as they are posted, I think I will do one a day, there are four)
I have my girls, I have my wonderfully loving cyber friends, but I have to admit I like belonging to someone. I think that is why I was so eager, after Jay’s death, to give myself to someone again. Thus Mistress Carla. Thus Harley. Belonging to someone completes me. I crave pleasing my special someone. I love seeing the look of pleasures when they have felt my love as I give to them.
Takers, . . . . . . the scourge of the single woman. The only thing worse are con-men.
I recognize that some people believe their own lies. And those are people no one should be around. Only pain will result from that. Hard for a woman that is by nature trusting and giving.
It feels so good to give to a taker.
For awhile….
Then the love bucket inside me empties and I find myself hurting inside, like a knife has cut my heart.
Takers. And con-men. I have to learn to recognize them on sight. Or at least quickly. At least before my heart starts to urge me to love them.
I have my girls, I have my wonderfully loving cyber friends, but I have to admit I like belonging to someone. I think that is why I was so eager, after Jay’s death, to give myself to someone again. Thus Mistress Carla. Thus Harley. Belonging to someone completes me. I crave pleasing my special someone. I love seeing the look of pleasures when they have felt my love as I give to them.
Takers, . . . . . . the scourge of the single woman. The only thing worse are con-men.
I recognize that some people believe their own lies. And those are people no one should be around. Only pain will result from that. Hard for a woman that is by nature trusting and giving.
It feels so good to give to a taker.
For awhile….
Then the love bucket inside me empties and I find myself hurting inside, like a knife has cut my heart.
Takers. And con-men. I have to learn to recognize them on sight. Or at least quickly. At least before my heart starts to urge me to love them.
Monday, June 06, 2005
How did I loose my hair the first time? Part one 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 1 Jay Leaves Me
Copyright Deni Wom 2003
Looking back, I guess it did start well before I was aware that there was a problem. Hubby didn’t make love to me on the night before he left on his last trip. This is highly unusual, but not a first. His frequent trips out of town have left me more or less at my own ends, and so while he was gone for the week, there was no indication that we were nearing a real change in our relationship.
He had hinted at there being a “big surprise” coming when he came back from his trip, and my eagerness to find out what it was may well have been enough to make me less intuitive about the two of us.
The “big surprise” seemed to be a man, my husband’s best friend while growing up. He arrived on Sunday afternoon. His name is seth, and to my surprise, he addressed me as Mistress Deni. His head is always bowed and his eyes do not look at me when he speaks.
His build is slender, yet he is a bit overweight. The weight hangs on him rather awkwardly somehow.
Hubby did not make love to me that night of his return. That was a first. We always make love for hours on the night he returns. Instead, he and seth stayed up late talking and laughing together. I soon felt out of place and retired. I awakened at around 2 AM and could still hear them talking in the family room. I drifted back to sleep and found that seth and hubby had already left when I awakened the next morning.
They were home when I returned from work that evening around 10:00 PM. Just before leaving the office, I had finally screwed up my courage and sent a picture of my face to Harley, my first cyber lover, a man I had grown incredibly fond of, I can even honestly say I felt love for him. I had then hurriedly turned off the computer so that I would not hear from him until the next day. I guess that I felt like that way I could prolong any negative reaction.
My husband is aware of these cyber chats I have and often reads them. I save them all for him. They often spice our love making up and sometimes we play the roles of the chat’s participants.
Arriving home, I found that seth had cooked a wonderful meal for us. Mine was in the oven, still warm. I noticed that the house was very clean, not like the normal lived in rooms that I am used to. I spent a little while talking with seth, and learned that he was retired, had made a lot of money in some business ventures he had sold, and was planning to move here and buy a house. In fact he and hubby had already located a house that he was thinking seriously about making a tender offer on. They again were wrapped up in reminiscing and talking about their lives together so many years before. Feeling like a fifth wheel on an automobile, I soon decided to retire, and left them to their friendship.
My husband not making love to me on the second night he was home was more than I could believe. I sorely missed our time together and decided to ask him what was going on at my first opportunity.
The next day started out very badly. Harley’s reaction to my picture was decidedly negative. I needed to hear that he liked my appearance. His comment was that I wasn’t J-Lo. It hurt horribly and after waiting for several minutes in shock and horror, I shut off the chat and tried to get some work done. I finally gave up on that idea several hours later, and headed home.
Hubby was at the door as I entered the house. He looked at me and told me he was leaving me.
In absolute horror, not really sure I had heard him correctly; I looked at him and asked, “Why?”
In essence, his answer was, “You don’t want to know.” With that he walked out the door, got into the car with seth, and drove off.
I woke up on the floor a short time later. This is the second time in a few months that I passed out from receiving such shocking and incomprehensible news. The first time being the death of a previous lover, Joe, that I had loved with great intensity. We had been separated for ten years at the time of his death.
I lay there for a long time, wondering if it was worth getting up again. I didn’t have the wherewithal to even move.
I have no idea how much longer I lay there, but M, my neighbor, knocked on the door, and then in her typical style walked on in. She very nearly tripped over me.
“Sweety, what are you doing down there?”
I just looked at her.
M is very intuitive, and immediately kneeled beside me and hugged me. “Tell me girlfriend , what has happened?”
She picked my limp head and shoulders up and hugged me tightly. The tears flooded my eyes, and my breathing came in racking sobs. She held me tightly until I could get my breath back. Gently she helped me to my feet and then led me to the living room sofa, sat me down and just looked into my eyes, waiting, until I could talk.
“He left me, M.”
“Who, Jay?”
“Yes.”
“What the fuck? How can that be girlfriend? He loves you with all his heart………………………….Are you really telling me that Jay walked out on you?”
The whole story came blurting out.
I cannot be in that lonely empty house, so I retire to my office and pace. Thinking. Trying to understand. Puzzling. Grasping at straws. The morning finally dawns and I try to call Jay’s cell phone. No answer, turned off. I anxiously try again through out the day. No answer, turned off.
I have a brain storm and call information and find that seth does indeed have his new phone listed. The operator system transfers my call to the new number. Seth answers, I ask for Jay. I hear a muttered conversation. Seth obviously has his hand over the mouth piece. “Master Jay has asked me to tell you not to call here again. He does not want to talk to you. Goodbye Mistress Deni.”
I cannot grasp what has happened, it makes no logical sense. My husband is acting totally out of character. He normally takes great pains to assure that no questions remain before taking action. He has always been 100% up front with me. I do not believe that man could lie even if it meant saving his own life. Nothing is adding up.
The next morning, my wonderful friend Wanda finds me heart broken in my office, and tries her best to calm me down, to get me to eat something, to sleep. I can do none of them. She holds me as I sob, and dries the tears as they stain the papers on my desk. Her comfort is heartfelt and real, and I slowly respond to her loving ministrations. Like a mother hen watches her brood, she takes care of me as I sit there, too numb to even pace the floors.
After two nights of no sleep and not being able to keep food down, I seek refuge in human contact from my friends on the internet. I chat with a friend that has become special to me as he and I seem to connect so well sexually. I save the chat and send it to my other net buddies and lovers. This spares me the need to tell everyone my painful story over and over again. I send the chat out to everyone late in the evening.
I try to go home, but cannot find the strength to open the front door of the house. I return to my office and try to sleep on the floor. Morning finally comes. I smell, I am filthy, I cannot eat, I feel like a pig in its pig pen, wallowing in mud. My body aches, my head pounds, I am light headed from lack of water.
I log on to the chats. My net friends are also shocked at the news. They cannot offer anything in the way of possible reasoning other than what I have already puzzled out. Most think he is having an affair. Harley, once I gain the nerve to contact him, tells me that he thinks it is seth that Jay is having the affair with. None of it makes sense.
Jay has to know that I would accept him if he told me he was bisexual. He is clearly an incredible lover, I have been married to him for eight years, truly the happiest years of my life.
Talking to my friends on the net calms me down a lot. I sleep for a short while at my desk, the first sleep since he left me. Wanda covers me with a blanket she has found somewhere, and puts a pillow under my head. I awake to a roaring headache, a stiff neck, and my back is in horrible pain, but mentally I feel a little better. I can focus a bit again.
I decide to take a vacation. I will pack up my things and take the motor home on a trip with Hubs, my dog.
I have just bought a laptop computer. I install GoToMyPC so that I can access my home files while I am away. Late that evening I return to my house to find seth mowing the lawn. I hurry into the house hoping to see Jay, but he is not there.
I ask seth about him, but his answer is no answer. I am ignored. Only the sound of the lawnmower…………….
Again broken hearted I drive south in the motor home that I had nicknamed Maude. She is a 23 foot, wide dowdy woman that meanders down the road in uncertain directions. Hubs, seeing my tears, is solicitous. He places his head in my lap as I drive. We travel about an hour and I pull into a camp site. I sleep fitfully for several hours. I awake hungry. We find a bit of food in the refrigerator, then stop at the first restaurant we come to. I eat a small portion, and Hubs enjoys the rest. We drive for several more hours and arrive at the last large town in Oregon before the California border. I find a motor home park to stay the night, and then go for a walk.
Not more than a few blocks from the motor home park is a bar with internet access. I find a table in the corner, then decide to get my computer and talk to my net buddies. I return with my laptop and take the corner table.
The corner table is perfect, I can see the whole bar and the people there, yet it is somewhat private. There are few people there when I arrived, and I log on to talk with my friends. Harley is upset because I am at a bar. He attempts to make cyber love to me as I sit there. I remove my clothes and tell him so. The bouncer tells me I have to get dressed if I want to stay. I tell Harley that a man is standing there helping him by touching me where he types that he is touching me. Harley leaves the chat in a huff, feeling rejected. I can’t make any man happy anymore, I guess. I start chatting with a good female friend that is also bi. We have made cyber love one time before tonight.
One thing leads to another, and we are soon chatting about sex. The tequila with beer chasers is aiding my growing sense of calmness.
As I chat with her, a continuous string of men pass by, feign interest in my laptop, then hit on me. I attempt to maintain a pleasant smile and fend them off civilly, but I may not have been totally successful. As Harley has told me, I can be a mean drunk. The chat with my increasingly good friend becomes intimate and specific, and aided by the tequila I start sharing my deepest fantasies with her. For the first time sense Jay left, I feel wetness between my legs.
The chat continues and I become very wet. I forget where I am and beg relief from Mistress Carla (newly acquired mistress tonight) and am granted, indeed ordered, to have an orgasm. I am a very noisy lover, and I did not remember to restrain my drunken ebullience. My excited screams catch the other patrons by surprise, and I received applause for my efforts. Not completely sated, I return to our highly sexual fantasy chat, and in my drunken state I again cum noisily. I again receive applause. This time a man gropes my breasts as I orgasm.
It occurs to me that I am past being responsible, and decide it is time to retire to Maude for the evening. Hubs is very glad to see me, and after I undress, supplicates me with lingual stimulation until I reach heaven twice more. I collapse into dreamless sleep, my legs wrapped around his neck.
I awake to a thundering hangover. But the pain in my head is not enough to quell the pain in my heart. I untangle myself from Hubs and rise. It is still early, so I walk along the streets thinking of how to soften the pain I feel inside.
When the stores open, I visit a sporting goods store and purchase a few items, then return to Maude and my devoted Hubs.
We check out of the motor home park and head south again, then turn west toward the forests of the Pacific Mountain Range. The roads lead us to higher elevations and the cool forests welcome our little traveling home.
I turn off the main road and travel until I am at the end of the dirt road. I can see a lake through the trees. I have seen no one else for over two hours. The afternoon sun is hot, and Hubs and I take an alpine bath in the cold waters of the crystal clear lake.
I open a new bag of dog food, and lay it on the floor so that Hubs will have plenty to eat. I refill his water. He sits there and looks at me with sad patient eyes. He refuses to eat or drink. He nuzzles my hand as if to say, “Pet me, I love you.”
I find several strong sticks lying on the forest floor that will meet my needs. I place pillows at both ends of the motor home couch, some for my hips, some for my head.
I lie down on them and adjust them until they are in the right position. I determine where to put the mirror so that I can see where I am going to work. I attach the mirror so that it is stable and will not move.
Taking the rope I have bought, I again lie down and tie my feet to the sides of the couch my legs spread wide and my uptilted worthless cunt fully exposed, fully visible in the mirror. My hips are supported by the pillows so that my body is fully exposed and will support anything that I lay upon it. Using the wooden stick, I tie my knees apart so that they will not flex as I work and thereby get in my way.
Using the fish hooks I have bought, I pierce my wet inner lips with the hooks in a manner that roughly positions them as I want them. Reaching for the stapler, I staple my ugly cunt lips together so that they will be nicely aligned. I reach for the curved awl.
Inserting the nylon fishing line through the eye of the awl, I begin my task of sewing myself together. I do not want another man to enter me there.
I sew myself neatly and take pride in the neatness of the stitches, pausing periodically to examine my handy work in the mirror. Several times I have to remove some of the stitches to re-stitch them as evenly as I want them to be. I want Mistress Carla to be proud of my work when she has her pleasure of me. I use paper towels to blot the copious blood that results from pulling long strands of nylon thread though the gouged openings, being careful not to stain the fabric of the couch.
Finally I am satisfied with my handiwork. I have left enough room for Mistress Carla to use me if she desires. I run the largest fish hook through my clitoris, piercing myself as I had fantasized and chatted about with her, for her use whenever she wants to cruelly use me there.
The pain in my heart is still overpowering the pain in my body.
I reach for the salt packets. Opening four, I steel myself and pour them onto my useless cunt. Listening to my own screams, I watch in the mirror as my fingers grind the salt into my bloody cunt lips, pulling and twisting the fish hooks, staples, and stitches. My screams slowly soften as my throat no longer responds to my brain. A finger is snagged by one of the barbs on the fish hook and I cannot get it off. In raging frustration at not being able to loose the pain in my heart, with my free hand I grab the fishhook that is piercing my clit and pull as hard as I can, feeling it rip through the tender useless meat. Blessed blackness envelopes me as I realize that even this is not enough to stem the pain in my heart.
In the darkness, I awaken to feel Hubs curled up next to me. At my first movement he raises his head and licks my face, caressing me with his own kind of kisses. I stare into the face of the only one I trust now.
Lying there, I savor the pain that totally encapsulates my body. Every part hurts. My finger is still attached to the barb of the fishhook, and my thumb on my other hand has been pierced by the hook that is only partly pulled through the meat of my clit. I feel the urgent need to urinate, and just let it come. In the light from the nearly full moon, I watch as the warm stream arcs through the air onto my chest, soaking my breasts and stomach. I push harder and the stream reaches my face, showering me with its liquid heat. I open my mouth and drink my own fluids. The stream slowly subsides, dribbling down my chin, then across my breasts, down my stomach, then disappears into its source.
I can vaguely see myself in the mirror. Both of my hands are trapped to my worthless ugly cunt by the hooks, and my lower body is red with dried blood. I realize with great disappointment that I have stained the sofa fabric with my blood.
Blackness again envelops me.
It is light now. I cannot see the clock, but the temperature of the air tells me that it must be early. I am shaking with cold. I am lying in urine and the wetness of it has irritated the skin of my back and bum. I smile as I feel the pain that cocoons me. Its welcome tentacles remind me that I can still feel something.
I can no longer feel my legs, and my hips are locked in their wide open position. The fishhook in my clit has finally torn through, and my left hand is now free to move. I caress Hubs, taking care not to use my thumb for fear of hooking him with the large sharp hook.
He nuzzles me to say “I love you.” He whines in his fear of my condition, then licks me to clean the urine from me. My dearest Hubs.
Looking in the mirror, I can see that my stitchery is indeed very nicely spaced. The nylon fishing threads have been uniformly drawn, and I am pleased with the tidiness of my work. I smile as I think of Mistress examining my work.
I again resolve to let the stitches remain until my unworthy lips have grown together, forming a seal over my worthlessness. If Mistress ever needs to use me there, I will cut it open for her. I decide to always carry a razor blade for the possibility that she might want to use me quickly. I will then be prepared to slice an opening to allow her her immediate pleasure of me.
Happy with that decision I close my eyes and wake again in early afternoon. Devoted, trustworthy Hubs is still at his post, caring for me and watching over me.
Looking in the mirror, I realize that my right hand is also free now. The hook has pulled through, and it is now only in my finger. I reach down and grind at my lips, trying to cause more pain in that horrible part of me. I can feel nothing there. I smile in victory. I have a dead cunt. NO one can use me there again and cause me pleasure. I have won!
My arms still work. I work slowly at freeing my knees, then my feet. They drop to the couch below. Poor Maude reeks of urine. I massage my legs to regain feeling in them. Hubs joins me in licking them. After some time they begin to respond and their color returns.
I let Hubs out to do his duty. He drops just outside the door in his obvious relief of what he has been holding all these hours. It takes a long time for him to finish. He searches for that perfect spot, finds it and then again hunches. I watch my only real friend as he returns to his own normality.
I step from the doorway and together we walk to the lake, enter, and I feel her coldness welcome my deadened body. I stay until I am blue, then leave her welcoming embrace of coldness. She has asked nothing of me other than to hold me. I have obliged her.
I take a bucket of water from her boundless supply, and return to clean what I can of the mess I have made. I pay homage to Maude for being there for me when I needed her privacy.
I take the mirror and inspect my worthlessness. I realize that I have five fish hooks still embedded, and now their barbs have also entered the flesh of my outer lips. They are deeply embedded, and I will have to pull them through my flesh if I am to free them.
I decide to enjoy their gift of pain as they work their own way through the flesh that is my worthlessness.
Using my nail file, I pry the staples open and remove them causing as much pain there as I can. The bleeding starts again, and I stand outside and let the blood run down my thighs. Eventually it stops running. After a bit the blood is caked. Naked and bloody, I walk through the woods, relishing the sharp throbbing pains that the embedded fishhooks gift me. I rub my thighs together to increase the painful sensations. I revel in the pain that I can cause her. I feel detached from her. I feel that she is my problem, and that this punishment is her just reward. I laugh as she throbs and mewls for relief. I slap her until she is red and bloody again. I let the blood run, adding to the caking upon my thighs, the proof that I can punish her for her transgressions.
I return to Maude and retrieve a leather belt. Standing in the forest, I beat her until I can not feel the blows. Again I walk about, feeling the embedded hooks in her worthless bloody flesh. I stop several times and beat her again to assure myself that she has learned her lesson well. I do not want her to forget this important lesson.
I fantasize that it is my new cruel Mistress punishing her, and I add all my strength to my strapping. I feel the skin give way and the blood starts to cum from all of her ugly parts, even my thighs. “GOOD!” I scream, “Take it all there, you useless worthless trollop slut whore cunt!”
I awake again, Hub is curled against me on the forest floor. The throbbing pain in my worthless cunt is greater than the pain in my heart and I know that I am getting better.
I lie there and realize that I am not rational.
I return to the lake’s cold embrace and bathe. Hubs watches me from the bank. The late evening chill is upon the forest. The privacy that this wonderful wood has provided is a gift that I ponder and marvel at. I open my mouth and drink from the lake. I feel the coolness enter my body and begin its healing process. I thank the lake for its wonderful gifts to me, how it has accepted me for the flawed human being that I am, and asked nothing from me in return.
I return to the shelter of Maude, and again inspect my ugly womanhood. Using pliers, I brutally remove the five remaining fishhooks from her, then also the two in my finger and thumb. The bleeding from her is minimal by now. I again wash myself in the sepulcher of the lake. This time I take soap and I remove the grime, blood, and urine of the previous week. My body feels the change in me and responds with the welcome horrendous pain from the abuse that I have inflicted upon it. I limp to my bed and collapse there, wet, exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and in horrible, welcome pain.
I am happy. I have made it through the worst of it. The memories of Jay are not as overpowering now. They are fading, however slowly, into the reaches of my sordid past.
I sleep, dreaming vivid dreams of deep multicolored canyons collapsing upon me as I crawl through them; trying to reach the safety beyond. I awake in a heavy sweat, and the overpowering physical pain returns. I reach for my laptop and start the next step in my healing process, I start to type my story for Mistress to read.
Part 1 Jay Leaves Me
Copyright Deni Wom 2003
Looking back, I guess it did start well before I was aware that there was a problem. Hubby didn’t make love to me on the night before he left on his last trip. This is highly unusual, but not a first. His frequent trips out of town have left me more or less at my own ends, and so while he was gone for the week, there was no indication that we were nearing a real change in our relationship.
He had hinted at there being a “big surprise” coming when he came back from his trip, and my eagerness to find out what it was may well have been enough to make me less intuitive about the two of us.
The “big surprise” seemed to be a man, my husband’s best friend while growing up. He arrived on Sunday afternoon. His name is seth, and to my surprise, he addressed me as Mistress Deni. His head is always bowed and his eyes do not look at me when he speaks.
His build is slender, yet he is a bit overweight. The weight hangs on him rather awkwardly somehow.
Hubby did not make love to me that night of his return. That was a first. We always make love for hours on the night he returns. Instead, he and seth stayed up late talking and laughing together. I soon felt out of place and retired. I awakened at around 2 AM and could still hear them talking in the family room. I drifted back to sleep and found that seth and hubby had already left when I awakened the next morning.
They were home when I returned from work that evening around 10:00 PM. Just before leaving the office, I had finally screwed up my courage and sent a picture of my face to Harley, my first cyber lover, a man I had grown incredibly fond of, I can even honestly say I felt love for him. I had then hurriedly turned off the computer so that I would not hear from him until the next day. I guess that I felt like that way I could prolong any negative reaction.
My husband is aware of these cyber chats I have and often reads them. I save them all for him. They often spice our love making up and sometimes we play the roles of the chat’s participants.
Arriving home, I found that seth had cooked a wonderful meal for us. Mine was in the oven, still warm. I noticed that the house was very clean, not like the normal lived in rooms that I am used to. I spent a little while talking with seth, and learned that he was retired, had made a lot of money in some business ventures he had sold, and was planning to move here and buy a house. In fact he and hubby had already located a house that he was thinking seriously about making a tender offer on. They again were wrapped up in reminiscing and talking about their lives together so many years before. Feeling like a fifth wheel on an automobile, I soon decided to retire, and left them to their friendship.
My husband not making love to me on the second night he was home was more than I could believe. I sorely missed our time together and decided to ask him what was going on at my first opportunity.
The next day started out very badly. Harley’s reaction to my picture was decidedly negative. I needed to hear that he liked my appearance. His comment was that I wasn’t J-Lo. It hurt horribly and after waiting for several minutes in shock and horror, I shut off the chat and tried to get some work done. I finally gave up on that idea several hours later, and headed home.
Hubby was at the door as I entered the house. He looked at me and told me he was leaving me.
In absolute horror, not really sure I had heard him correctly; I looked at him and asked, “Why?”
In essence, his answer was, “You don’t want to know.” With that he walked out the door, got into the car with seth, and drove off.
I woke up on the floor a short time later. This is the second time in a few months that I passed out from receiving such shocking and incomprehensible news. The first time being the death of a previous lover, Joe, that I had loved with great intensity. We had been separated for ten years at the time of his death.
I lay there for a long time, wondering if it was worth getting up again. I didn’t have the wherewithal to even move.
I have no idea how much longer I lay there, but M, my neighbor, knocked on the door, and then in her typical style walked on in. She very nearly tripped over me.
“Sweety, what are you doing down there?”
I just looked at her.
M is very intuitive, and immediately kneeled beside me and hugged me. “Tell me girlfriend , what has happened?”
She picked my limp head and shoulders up and hugged me tightly. The tears flooded my eyes, and my breathing came in racking sobs. She held me tightly until I could get my breath back. Gently she helped me to my feet and then led me to the living room sofa, sat me down and just looked into my eyes, waiting, until I could talk.
“He left me, M.”
“Who, Jay?”
“Yes.”
“What the fuck? How can that be girlfriend? He loves you with all his heart………………………….Are you really telling me that Jay walked out on you?”
The whole story came blurting out.
I cannot be in that lonely empty house, so I retire to my office and pace. Thinking. Trying to understand. Puzzling. Grasping at straws. The morning finally dawns and I try to call Jay’s cell phone. No answer, turned off. I anxiously try again through out the day. No answer, turned off.
I have a brain storm and call information and find that seth does indeed have his new phone listed. The operator system transfers my call to the new number. Seth answers, I ask for Jay. I hear a muttered conversation. Seth obviously has his hand over the mouth piece. “Master Jay has asked me to tell you not to call here again. He does not want to talk to you. Goodbye Mistress Deni.”
I cannot grasp what has happened, it makes no logical sense. My husband is acting totally out of character. He normally takes great pains to assure that no questions remain before taking action. He has always been 100% up front with me. I do not believe that man could lie even if it meant saving his own life. Nothing is adding up.
The next morning, my wonderful friend Wanda finds me heart broken in my office, and tries her best to calm me down, to get me to eat something, to sleep. I can do none of them. She holds me as I sob, and dries the tears as they stain the papers on my desk. Her comfort is heartfelt and real, and I slowly respond to her loving ministrations. Like a mother hen watches her brood, she takes care of me as I sit there, too numb to even pace the floors.
After two nights of no sleep and not being able to keep food down, I seek refuge in human contact from my friends on the internet. I chat with a friend that has become special to me as he and I seem to connect so well sexually. I save the chat and send it to my other net buddies and lovers. This spares me the need to tell everyone my painful story over and over again. I send the chat out to everyone late in the evening.
I try to go home, but cannot find the strength to open the front door of the house. I return to my office and try to sleep on the floor. Morning finally comes. I smell, I am filthy, I cannot eat, I feel like a pig in its pig pen, wallowing in mud. My body aches, my head pounds, I am light headed from lack of water.
I log on to the chats. My net friends are also shocked at the news. They cannot offer anything in the way of possible reasoning other than what I have already puzzled out. Most think he is having an affair. Harley, once I gain the nerve to contact him, tells me that he thinks it is seth that Jay is having the affair with. None of it makes sense.
Jay has to know that I would accept him if he told me he was bisexual. He is clearly an incredible lover, I have been married to him for eight years, truly the happiest years of my life.
Talking to my friends on the net calms me down a lot. I sleep for a short while at my desk, the first sleep since he left me. Wanda covers me with a blanket she has found somewhere, and puts a pillow under my head. I awake to a roaring headache, a stiff neck, and my back is in horrible pain, but mentally I feel a little better. I can focus a bit again.
I decide to take a vacation. I will pack up my things and take the motor home on a trip with Hubs, my dog.
I have just bought a laptop computer. I install GoToMyPC so that I can access my home files while I am away. Late that evening I return to my house to find seth mowing the lawn. I hurry into the house hoping to see Jay, but he is not there.
I ask seth about him, but his answer is no answer. I am ignored. Only the sound of the lawnmower…………….
Again broken hearted I drive south in the motor home that I had nicknamed Maude. She is a 23 foot, wide dowdy woman that meanders down the road in uncertain directions. Hubs, seeing my tears, is solicitous. He places his head in my lap as I drive. We travel about an hour and I pull into a camp site. I sleep fitfully for several hours. I awake hungry. We find a bit of food in the refrigerator, then stop at the first restaurant we come to. I eat a small portion, and Hubs enjoys the rest. We drive for several more hours and arrive at the last large town in Oregon before the California border. I find a motor home park to stay the night, and then go for a walk.
Not more than a few blocks from the motor home park is a bar with internet access. I find a table in the corner, then decide to get my computer and talk to my net buddies. I return with my laptop and take the corner table.
The corner table is perfect, I can see the whole bar and the people there, yet it is somewhat private. There are few people there when I arrived, and I log on to talk with my friends. Harley is upset because I am at a bar. He attempts to make cyber love to me as I sit there. I remove my clothes and tell him so. The bouncer tells me I have to get dressed if I want to stay. I tell Harley that a man is standing there helping him by touching me where he types that he is touching me. Harley leaves the chat in a huff, feeling rejected. I can’t make any man happy anymore, I guess. I start chatting with a good female friend that is also bi. We have made cyber love one time before tonight.
One thing leads to another, and we are soon chatting about sex. The tequila with beer chasers is aiding my growing sense of calmness.
As I chat with her, a continuous string of men pass by, feign interest in my laptop, then hit on me. I attempt to maintain a pleasant smile and fend them off civilly, but I may not have been totally successful. As Harley has told me, I can be a mean drunk. The chat with my increasingly good friend becomes intimate and specific, and aided by the tequila I start sharing my deepest fantasies with her. For the first time sense Jay left, I feel wetness between my legs.
The chat continues and I become very wet. I forget where I am and beg relief from Mistress Carla (newly acquired mistress tonight) and am granted, indeed ordered, to have an orgasm. I am a very noisy lover, and I did not remember to restrain my drunken ebullience. My excited screams catch the other patrons by surprise, and I received applause for my efforts. Not completely sated, I return to our highly sexual fantasy chat, and in my drunken state I again cum noisily. I again receive applause. This time a man gropes my breasts as I orgasm.
It occurs to me that I am past being responsible, and decide it is time to retire to Maude for the evening. Hubs is very glad to see me, and after I undress, supplicates me with lingual stimulation until I reach heaven twice more. I collapse into dreamless sleep, my legs wrapped around his neck.
I awake to a thundering hangover. But the pain in my head is not enough to quell the pain in my heart. I untangle myself from Hubs and rise. It is still early, so I walk along the streets thinking of how to soften the pain I feel inside.
When the stores open, I visit a sporting goods store and purchase a few items, then return to Maude and my devoted Hubs.
We check out of the motor home park and head south again, then turn west toward the forests of the Pacific Mountain Range. The roads lead us to higher elevations and the cool forests welcome our little traveling home.
I turn off the main road and travel until I am at the end of the dirt road. I can see a lake through the trees. I have seen no one else for over two hours. The afternoon sun is hot, and Hubs and I take an alpine bath in the cold waters of the crystal clear lake.
I open a new bag of dog food, and lay it on the floor so that Hubs will have plenty to eat. I refill his water. He sits there and looks at me with sad patient eyes. He refuses to eat or drink. He nuzzles my hand as if to say, “Pet me, I love you.”
I find several strong sticks lying on the forest floor that will meet my needs. I place pillows at both ends of the motor home couch, some for my hips, some for my head.
I lie down on them and adjust them until they are in the right position. I determine where to put the mirror so that I can see where I am going to work. I attach the mirror so that it is stable and will not move.
Taking the rope I have bought, I again lie down and tie my feet to the sides of the couch my legs spread wide and my uptilted worthless cunt fully exposed, fully visible in the mirror. My hips are supported by the pillows so that my body is fully exposed and will support anything that I lay upon it. Using the wooden stick, I tie my knees apart so that they will not flex as I work and thereby get in my way.
Using the fish hooks I have bought, I pierce my wet inner lips with the hooks in a manner that roughly positions them as I want them. Reaching for the stapler, I staple my ugly cunt lips together so that they will be nicely aligned. I reach for the curved awl.
Inserting the nylon fishing line through the eye of the awl, I begin my task of sewing myself together. I do not want another man to enter me there.
I sew myself neatly and take pride in the neatness of the stitches, pausing periodically to examine my handy work in the mirror. Several times I have to remove some of the stitches to re-stitch them as evenly as I want them to be. I want Mistress Carla to be proud of my work when she has her pleasure of me. I use paper towels to blot the copious blood that results from pulling long strands of nylon thread though the gouged openings, being careful not to stain the fabric of the couch.
Finally I am satisfied with my handiwork. I have left enough room for Mistress Carla to use me if she desires. I run the largest fish hook through my clitoris, piercing myself as I had fantasized and chatted about with her, for her use whenever she wants to cruelly use me there.
The pain in my heart is still overpowering the pain in my body.
I reach for the salt packets. Opening four, I steel myself and pour them onto my useless cunt. Listening to my own screams, I watch in the mirror as my fingers grind the salt into my bloody cunt lips, pulling and twisting the fish hooks, staples, and stitches. My screams slowly soften as my throat no longer responds to my brain. A finger is snagged by one of the barbs on the fish hook and I cannot get it off. In raging frustration at not being able to loose the pain in my heart, with my free hand I grab the fishhook that is piercing my clit and pull as hard as I can, feeling it rip through the tender useless meat. Blessed blackness envelopes me as I realize that even this is not enough to stem the pain in my heart.
In the darkness, I awaken to feel Hubs curled up next to me. At my first movement he raises his head and licks my face, caressing me with his own kind of kisses. I stare into the face of the only one I trust now.
Lying there, I savor the pain that totally encapsulates my body. Every part hurts. My finger is still attached to the barb of the fishhook, and my thumb on my other hand has been pierced by the hook that is only partly pulled through the meat of my clit. I feel the urgent need to urinate, and just let it come. In the light from the nearly full moon, I watch as the warm stream arcs through the air onto my chest, soaking my breasts and stomach. I push harder and the stream reaches my face, showering me with its liquid heat. I open my mouth and drink my own fluids. The stream slowly subsides, dribbling down my chin, then across my breasts, down my stomach, then disappears into its source.
I can vaguely see myself in the mirror. Both of my hands are trapped to my worthless ugly cunt by the hooks, and my lower body is red with dried blood. I realize with great disappointment that I have stained the sofa fabric with my blood.
Blackness again envelops me.
It is light now. I cannot see the clock, but the temperature of the air tells me that it must be early. I am shaking with cold. I am lying in urine and the wetness of it has irritated the skin of my back and bum. I smile as I feel the pain that cocoons me. Its welcome tentacles remind me that I can still feel something.
I can no longer feel my legs, and my hips are locked in their wide open position. The fishhook in my clit has finally torn through, and my left hand is now free to move. I caress Hubs, taking care not to use my thumb for fear of hooking him with the large sharp hook.
He nuzzles me to say “I love you.” He whines in his fear of my condition, then licks me to clean the urine from me. My dearest Hubs.
Looking in the mirror, I can see that my stitchery is indeed very nicely spaced. The nylon fishing threads have been uniformly drawn, and I am pleased with the tidiness of my work. I smile as I think of Mistress examining my work.
I again resolve to let the stitches remain until my unworthy lips have grown together, forming a seal over my worthlessness. If Mistress ever needs to use me there, I will cut it open for her. I decide to always carry a razor blade for the possibility that she might want to use me quickly. I will then be prepared to slice an opening to allow her her immediate pleasure of me.
Happy with that decision I close my eyes and wake again in early afternoon. Devoted, trustworthy Hubs is still at his post, caring for me and watching over me.
Looking in the mirror, I realize that my right hand is also free now. The hook has pulled through, and it is now only in my finger. I reach down and grind at my lips, trying to cause more pain in that horrible part of me. I can feel nothing there. I smile in victory. I have a dead cunt. NO one can use me there again and cause me pleasure. I have won!
My arms still work. I work slowly at freeing my knees, then my feet. They drop to the couch below. Poor Maude reeks of urine. I massage my legs to regain feeling in them. Hubs joins me in licking them. After some time they begin to respond and their color returns.
I let Hubs out to do his duty. He drops just outside the door in his obvious relief of what he has been holding all these hours. It takes a long time for him to finish. He searches for that perfect spot, finds it and then again hunches. I watch my only real friend as he returns to his own normality.
I step from the doorway and together we walk to the lake, enter, and I feel her coldness welcome my deadened body. I stay until I am blue, then leave her welcoming embrace of coldness. She has asked nothing of me other than to hold me. I have obliged her.
I take a bucket of water from her boundless supply, and return to clean what I can of the mess I have made. I pay homage to Maude for being there for me when I needed her privacy.
I take the mirror and inspect my worthlessness. I realize that I have five fish hooks still embedded, and now their barbs have also entered the flesh of my outer lips. They are deeply embedded, and I will have to pull them through my flesh if I am to free them.
I decide to enjoy their gift of pain as they work their own way through the flesh that is my worthlessness.
Using my nail file, I pry the staples open and remove them causing as much pain there as I can. The bleeding starts again, and I stand outside and let the blood run down my thighs. Eventually it stops running. After a bit the blood is caked. Naked and bloody, I walk through the woods, relishing the sharp throbbing pains that the embedded fishhooks gift me. I rub my thighs together to increase the painful sensations. I revel in the pain that I can cause her. I feel detached from her. I feel that she is my problem, and that this punishment is her just reward. I laugh as she throbs and mewls for relief. I slap her until she is red and bloody again. I let the blood run, adding to the caking upon my thighs, the proof that I can punish her for her transgressions.
I return to Maude and retrieve a leather belt. Standing in the forest, I beat her until I can not feel the blows. Again I walk about, feeling the embedded hooks in her worthless bloody flesh. I stop several times and beat her again to assure myself that she has learned her lesson well. I do not want her to forget this important lesson.
I fantasize that it is my new cruel Mistress punishing her, and I add all my strength to my strapping. I feel the skin give way and the blood starts to cum from all of her ugly parts, even my thighs. “GOOD!” I scream, “Take it all there, you useless worthless trollop slut whore cunt!”
I awake again, Hub is curled against me on the forest floor. The throbbing pain in my worthless cunt is greater than the pain in my heart and I know that I am getting better.
I lie there and realize that I am not rational.
I return to the lake’s cold embrace and bathe. Hubs watches me from the bank. The late evening chill is upon the forest. The privacy that this wonderful wood has provided is a gift that I ponder and marvel at. I open my mouth and drink from the lake. I feel the coolness enter my body and begin its healing process. I thank the lake for its wonderful gifts to me, how it has accepted me for the flawed human being that I am, and asked nothing from me in return.
I return to the shelter of Maude, and again inspect my ugly womanhood. Using pliers, I brutally remove the five remaining fishhooks from her, then also the two in my finger and thumb. The bleeding from her is minimal by now. I again wash myself in the sepulcher of the lake. This time I take soap and I remove the grime, blood, and urine of the previous week. My body feels the change in me and responds with the welcome horrendous pain from the abuse that I have inflicted upon it. I limp to my bed and collapse there, wet, exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and in horrible, welcome pain.
I am happy. I have made it through the worst of it. The memories of Jay are not as overpowering now. They are fading, however slowly, into the reaches of my sordid past.
I sleep, dreaming vivid dreams of deep multicolored canyons collapsing upon me as I crawl through them; trying to reach the safety beyond. I awake in a heavy sweat, and the overpowering physical pain returns. I reach for my laptop and start the next step in my healing process, I start to type my story for Mistress to read.
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