How did I lose my hair the first time? Part 4 Since I am Still Alive

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.

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 my story.

Wanda tells me that the first word I said 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 it was like a memory I have of my childhood. That particular day was my day to be picked on, my day in the barrel so to speak. I have four brothers, and they had all been picking on me all day long. I was incredibly frustrated, put upon, and in a horrible mood. I am sure we all know how cruel children can be to each other. One of my brothers took an opportunity to push me down in the gravel of our lane. I had scraped hands, knees, cheek, even gravel in my nose and ear. I was bleeding and screaming and crying at the top of my lungs. I felt totally unloved, unwanted, and cast out.

At that moment my mother picked me up and held me in her arms and kissed me, hugged me, shushed me, and rocked me. Her arms were so loving and protective. They were my new found security and 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 “The Last Story” out. I will send it out as part of this exchange.

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 hugs. He opened the door 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. He did not recognize me. The deterioration in my appearance crushed me as I realized that even my own brother could not know me as I now am.

“Brucey, it’s me, your sister.”

Still no recognition.

“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 me it was a final goodbye, to him, it was just the normal, “See you later, Sis!”

Checking my gas gauge, I decide that I have enough fuel to arrive at my good friend, the lake, without filling up, and head back up the road to my 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 rise, pass 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 liquid comfort. The last bit of support I will need in this world, I smile at the comforting thought.

I wait 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 into 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 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 my beloved place of Love, and I float in bliss in its total unquestioning loving embrace and 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 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. 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 hand 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 of welcome.

The pain thunders at me now, up close and personal. I revel in its control and brutality. It overshadows my heart-felt pain , and I appreciate at least that 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 and 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!

Again no answers. Just unbearable pain in my 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 preeminence, or not create a scene in front of his staff and a 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 myself 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 agree eventually 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 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 and I have to become assertive to get her 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……………………!!!!!

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.) My tirade lasts for over ten minutes, Wanda tells me later. 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 think he thought he was in the wrong room.

I cooperate in taking pain medications and sleeping aids, and the shift nurses 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 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.

The Vibrating Egg Expereince

[I told a cyber friend about me wearing a vibbing egg to Easter Service.  He had some questions . . . . ]

So, onto your Easter fuck. Whose idea was it to wear a vibrating egg? His

What were you doing before you inserted the vibrating egg inside? I had just showered, dried off, and gotten dressed.

Were you fucking? Not since I got out of the shower.

Was it a dare? A double dare? A triple dog dare? No, but he has this way of looking at me, something about how he holds his eyebrows and slightly grins, that tells me he has a … treat … for me.

What were you feeling? I assume you mean in church? I was heatedly excited, a bit fearful, and intensely aware of the people around me. 

Who was sitting on either side of you? He was on one side, and Liez was on the other.

How many people were in your group? 5

Were children in your group? The kids were in kids' church. I NEVER do anything like this is if a child can be even remotely affected.

[I passed out when I got into the car to go home. He had turned the vibration back on as I walked out of the church]

Once back at Dok’s, how did you awaken (after you fainted)? The usual way, slowly regain cognizance.

What did you know was happening? What sensations could you feel as you awakened? Of course I knew what was happening, and what had happened. I felt pride at not having given my orgasms away to those not involved, and intensely pleased that I had pleased my lovers.

You mentioned Liez was at the service so was Liez participating with the sex? Liez is my most trusted soul mate. I know beyond any doubt that she will take care of me, do the right thing for me, and never leave me hanging out to dry. She had her hand on my back as I came in church. That gave me the freedom to enjoy my ‘O’s.

When you fuck, is it typical mano e mano, or, multiples of people? What do you find different, or the same with Dok or Liez, or someone else when you fuck? All of the above, except I am VERY careful who I am with. I do not take chances, as you may have noticed.

Three in a Bed

Written by a long time, dear friend of mine

Three in a bed – a true tale

                  BobNbobbi

An image can, and very strongly will, conjure old memories.

Is my image visual, a girl walking down the street wearing a thin print skirt, not quite sheer, not quite blown by the wind to voyeur delight, but still a remembered scene from years long past when the skirt came off to reveal hidden delights?

Is the image aural, a cry out in the night exciting an ear and stirring a brain from sleep?  

The noise could be an alarm.  No ... that sound was passion, excited orgasm.  

R is no longer alongside me in bed.  She made the noise, didn’t she ear? Didn’t she brain? Didn’t she psyche?

Where is my R?

My hand reaches across a cotton field to find her.  There she is with her lover.  She is safe, go back to sleep and dream; they didn’t invite you.