tagLoving WivesThe Journal Ch. 02

The Journal Ch. 02

byowengreybeard©

Chapter 2

Ann



They tell me that I'm through with in-patient therapy, so I get to go home tomorrow. My burns are as good as they're going to get, apparently, and I can finally put some concealer on them, which helps. I have to tell you that I'm thoroughly sick of hospitals, but at the same time, I'm pretty nervous about going home. Here, everybody is focused on my care, and at home, I'll be pretty much on my own once my folks go home. I keep going through these nightmare scenarios, like bathroom accidents, and falling down the stairs. I finally convinced Jim to go home and get some sleep a couple of days ago, and I have to admit it's terribly lonely without him.

He's learned how to wrap my stumps with ace bandages to keep them compressed, and he seems to have no problem touching my little arms. Actually, he seems to be happiest when he's taking care of me, especially when he's working with my stumps. When we made love a couple of mornings ago, I think he came because he touched them, not because of something I did with my pussy, which is puzzling. In spite of that, I can't believe how lucky I feel.

It has finally sunk in that my left stump just isn't long enough to support a prosthetic limb. I am really ok with it, since all the trials I did were incredibly frustrating. I don't know if I'm just mechanically declined (Jim's term, LOL) or it's just too hard. I mean, the arm just lays there while my little stump rotates in the socket. It's just too much, especially compared to the right side, which is working pretty well. I sure wish they'd been able to save my elbow, but you know what they say about wishing.

As far as my breathing hole is concerned (it's called a stoma, which means "hole". Go figure.), I can't take the little plastic tube in and out by myself yet, and I have been practicing my coughing. Coughing is important to keep the mucous out of my airway, because excess mucous breeds bacteria and increases the rick of pulmonary infections, which are more common in people with trachs. I have an advantage over a lot of trach users because mine (it sounds like I should name it, huh?) is due to trauma, not a Neuro-muscular disease, or NMD, so I have complete control of my breathing. There's a lot of incentive for me to keep up the practice. If the mucous builds up too much I have to stick a suction thingy down the hole and suck it out. They did it a couple of times for me, and it was way scary. I also have to keep the humidity high in the house, because I don't have my mouth and nose to condition the air I breathe by adding moisture to it. The Respiratory Therapist says I should try leaving the tube out in the daytime. I haven't tried yet; I'm nervous that it might collapse, although they made it so it wouldn't. One step at a time.

It's a good thing I have a strong sense of self-esteem, because it feels like I have a flashing light over my head that says, "Stare at me!" I don't think it's my stumps, or my fake arm when I wear it; I think it's my voice. Don't get me wrong, I am so thankful that I have the ability to speak, even by burping. The fact is, though, that it's just so unusual. People are not used to hearing it, and I'm really loud! The speech therapist has told me that I should be able to modulate it eventually, and one of the things I'm looking forward to the most about being at home is the privacy to practice. The s.p. arranged for me to have lunch yesterday with Janey, a girl about 10 years younger than me who has had a trach for 5 years due to a motorcycle accident. We hit it off right away, partly because she has no shame at all, like me, and partly because she has a wicked sense of humor. She's over a foot taller than me, and is willowy like a basketball player, so we make an interesting pair. Within ten minutes of ordering lunch (and she made me order my own, BTW), she had me laughing my guts out ("Go ahead and laugh girl. You will never blow milk out your nose again!"). She has an unwavering optimism and appreciation of life, and I think we are going to be good friends. She's bi, and her teasing me about how hot she thinks I am had me red-faced in embarrassment.

Apparently, at least according to Janey, I have become a member of the most exclusive club in the world, which she calls the EBS. This stands for the "Endless Blowjob Society", something which had actually crossed my mind. More than once. An hour. Believe it or not, Janey has had me practicing with a silicone dildo, which she wants to share with me some day. I have been able to pretty much turn off my now-useless gag reflex. I can take ALL of it into my throat and close my mouth over the end. As exciting as I find this, I'm hoping that Jim likes it even more.

Janey got a glazed look in her eyes helping me practice, and I have to admit I got a little wet in the knickers as well. She asked me if I'd been able to come since my accident, and I told her just once. She offered to help me out, but I told her I was letting the anticipation build toward my homecoming (get it?). She insisted on a rain check, and as she dropped me off after walking me to my room, she gave me a sweet kiss with a little tongue. I really, really liked it. She also hugged me for a long time, which moved me to tears. You don't appreciate hugs until you can't give them, and you don't get them because people are too nervous to touch you, or afraid to hurt you. Add that to the talking thing, and it gets kind of lonely. Waaah! Listen to me whine. Sorry.

Jim's been treating me like a fragile little flower, which is fine as far as my stumps are concerned, but I want to get back to our lives together. I miss messing with him and our endless kidding and teasing. I guess we'll see what happens once I get home.

Wednesday dawned bright and clear, and it was supposed to be really hot. I was awake around 5:00, and Janey surprised me and showed up around 6:15. She said that she came to help me get ready and to feed me breakfast. She climbed into the shower with me after taking off my Ace bandages and putting a little plastic shield on us that she'd found to cover our stomas with in the shower so we don't drown. She is as lean as a greyhound and very pale, her hair the color of straw, typically in a long braid down her back.. Her pubic hair is almost invisible, and her breasts are really tiny, almost nonexistent. I think Jim's nipples are bigger than hers. Her stoma is lower on her neck than mine, almost centered between her collarbones, and looks as if it has always been there. There is a visible bump on her left clavicle, liked it healed wrong after her accident, and a trace work of white scars partially incorporated into her right shoulder and breast. My scars are deep purple. She really scrubbed me, 'cause she's a girl and knows what clean is. As she washed me, she held my shoulders and helped me balance.

The whole experience was almost otherworldly. It felt so good to be held, and touched, and the warm water was just the best. Janey had her head against my boobs as she washed my legs, and I realized I couldn't smell the shampoo in her hair. It was a fleetingly sad moment, which I fully intended to dwell on, but then I found something else to focus on. As her hand traveled up and down my legs with the washcloth, Janey bumped her thumb against my clit. Electricity shot up my spine and around my pelvis, and I must have jumped a foot. Without a word, she took her right thumb and index finger and placed them on each side of my clit, and then started to pull down and release, like she was milking my pussy. I started to follow her motion with my hips, pumping lazily. Her other hand slid down my back and under me, circling the inside of my right thigh and pushing her thumb into my vagina, where it circled into my G-spot in time to her milking. She turned her head to me and we kissed, our tongues languid and slow. Her eyes were open, and they crinkled in pleasure when I shook occasionally in response to her stroking. My right stump patted and rubbed her face and hair while the left one waved in frantic circles just inside my peripheral vision. I felt the wave approaching, and found myself speaking silently into her ear, telling her what to do to make me roll over the top. I don't know if she understood anything, but she brought me like she'd heard every word. As I rose onto my tip-toes, she rolled my clit with a vengeance, and I came, shuddering and sagging onto her hand.

When I could stand, she released me, turned down the water, and leaned back against the wall of the shower. Spreading her legs, she began to circle her right fingers against her mound, and her left hand sought her tiny nipples. After watching her for a while, I stepped across the shower and found myself nearly at eye level with her tits. I homed into her right breast and began to tease the little bud with my tongue. As I worked on it diligently, Janey gasped, her eyes looking down, and I realized that my right stump had begun to flick at her left nipple. I continued my two pronged assault, and she can almost instantly, her breath almost coughing out of her stoma. As she calmed, I leaned into her and laid my cheek on her chest, kissing her scarred white skin gently. She toweled me down, teasing my body softly as she patted me. She dressed quickly and went to the bag she'd brought with her.

She'd brought me a VS thong in pink lace and a pair of royal blue cargo shorts, which she lovingly put on me. There's a possibility that she spent some extra time making sure the thong was just right. She'd also bought me a VS demi bra. It was a racerback in matching pink, and held my girls up proudly under the light blue scoop necked, short sleeved silk blouse. The sleeves just covered my left stump, and the shoulder component of my right prosthesis was covered as well. Janey applied a little of her makeup for me, did my short hair, and I was ready.

While I waited for Jim to arrive, we went down to the financial office to see how much this adventure was going to cost. Jim had told me not to worry about it, but I had to know. The finance officer told me that the charges were being paid for by another party, but she wouldn't tell me who. Wow!

Janey had to go to work around 8:30. Seconds after she left, she ran back down the hall and into my room, breathing so hard her stoma was whistling. She had a pretty scarf in her hand, and she tied it around my neck to hide my trach tube, which I thought was so thoughtful. She hugged me again and wished me luck, and promised she'd drop by next week and see how things were going. She doesn't talk on the phone often, since she's hard to understand for some people, but she gave me her phone numbers and email addresses at home and at work. I haven't tried to use a computer yet, but with my hook, it should be slow but manageable. Jim said he's got me set up at home, with a special mouse for my hook, and a bigger monitor, which I suspect is more for him than for me.

Jim came down the hall right at 9:00. He was so happy looking, I almost cried. He grabbed my suitcase and we went to the nurse station to say our goodbyes. I had to sign the release papers, and they were going to let me make an "X", but I had been practicing my signature in my spare time and it looked okay on paper. Jim reached over to hold the documents so they didn't slide around, but I had already leaned down without thinking about it and clamped them down with my stump. The nurses, rehab people, Doctors and even housekeeping kind of formed a gauntlet line, and wished me well. I made a little speech, which was hard, but everybody heard me, and clapped when I was done. I cried again. I don't know why I have been crying so much; it's not like me at all. I guess it's been harder than I let myself allow. Sigh.

Jim made a trip to the car and stowed my suitcase and miscellaneous hospital stuff, like the things to take care of my stoma and such, then came back for me. As we got into the elevator, he kissed me very nicely, and the staff clapped as I lifted one foot up like in the movies.

"Are you happy to be going home, sweetness?" he asked.

"You can't. Imagine," I answered. One of the things I need to work on is how many words I can get out in one burp. So far it's about two words at a time, which totally sucks. I also haven't gotten used to the fact that my breathing and my speaking are not necessarily related. The muscles I use for breathing are kind of different from the ones I use to pull air into my stomach to talk with. It's hard to explain, and even harder to do.

As we walked out the elevator, a nurse's aide came running after us with a wheelchair. She caught up to us just as we walked out of the door. Apparently, the staff had forgotten that I was supposed to leave the hospital in the chair. I sat in it to go through the airlock, about ten feet, really, then got up and thanked her for the ride. She looked kind of flustered, but smiled when I started to laugh. Even if it sounds like a snake having a seizure, laughing feels really great, and I intend to do it a lot.

By the time we got to the car, I was sweating and breathing hard. I guess leisurely strolls down the hospital corridors and walking for real aren't similar enough to keep me in shape. I was starting to feel a little panicked, because I wasn't getting enough air. Jim pulled the scarf off my neck and it got better. Some of the fabric had gotten snagged on a little burr on the trach tube, and was blocking the hole a little. Crisis averted, but as soon as I can, I'm going to ask Jim to help me take out the trach tube and see what happens.

Jim buckled me in and we hit the road. I leaned over and put my head on his shoulder in complete contentment. I was going home.

I awoke with a start. The car was off and we were sitting in our garage. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Jim's eyes looking back at me, crinkled in a smile. It was a nice way to wake up.

"What are. You looking, At.?" I asked.

"An angel," he replied softly. "Get your pretty ass out of the car and let's get started. I have a lot of cool things to show you."

"I really. Only want. To see. One thing," I said.

"And what would that be?" he asked.

"You. Naked," I replied.

"You're just going to have to wait for that, darling," he said.

"Bastard," I replied, sticking out my tongue.

"Bitch," He said, sticking out his. Everything was going to be just fine.

The first thing Jim showed me in the garage was the humidifier he'd installed in the air handler system. That would be nice, especially in the winter, when we used the pellet stove to heat with. I pulled him to me and gave him a kiss of gratitude. He took me by the hook and led me to my car, and showed me the modifications he'd made, including a loop on the steering wheel to put my hook into.

"I don't know if you can pull off driving, but if you want to try, the car is set up," he said, then puckered for his kiss. This one lasted a little longer, and involved a little ass fondling on his part. Nice.

He let me open the door into the kitchen, using the new lever-style lockset he'd installed. I was stunned! The kitchen had been totally remodeled. New dark cabinets where I could reach them, a video phone, a flat panel TV in the corner, everything was top of the line.

"How much?" I asked.

"All paid for by the family of the guy that hit you, honey; he was one of those dot-com guys, and left millions to his family and all of this came out of that at his wife's insistence. People think that she's just trying to avoid a lawsuit, but I've met with her, and she really was almost as upset about your injuries as she was about her husband's death. She paid for the hospital as well as establishing a fund for anything you need in the future. And that includes schooling, prosthetics, surgeries, rehab, the whole nine yards."

I was torn by my gratitude for her thoughtfulness, vs. the fact that her husband was the idiot who caused it to be required.

As I stood looking at the wonderful kitchen my misfortune had wrought, Jim moved up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, the left under my breasts and the right across above them, his hand cupping my little stump.

"Is it ok to touch? He asked.

"Please. Please," I answered.

He kissed the top of my head, and I let it fall to the side, showing him the unburned side of my neck. He found my nape with his lips, and worked his way down the right side of my neck kissing my ear, and the little depression underneath it. I sighed and felt my breath flow around his arm. I had a thought out of the blue.

"Do I. Have. Bad breath?" I burped.

"Let's find out," he said.

He turned me toward him and bent at the waist. He busied his hands at my neck as I realized with a shock that he was untying the cord holding my trach tube in. With a smooth motion, he tipped it down and slid it out of my neck. I inhaled nervously, noting instantly how much easier it was, how much air there was for me to breathe! I exhaled, smiling, and then self-consciously asked, "Is it. Ugly?"

He stood back and looked, tilting his head back and forth, like the dog listening to a record player.

"No, Annie, it isn't," he said thoughtfully. "It's pink around the edges, like some of my other of your favorite parts, and the inside glistens, also like some of my favorite parts of you. I have to tell you something Annie. If this little hole is what it takes to keep you with me, I'm head over heels in love with it. It's kind of oval shaped, top to bottom, and it moves in and out a little when you breathe. Exhale for me."

I inhaled softly, relishing in the ease of it. As I did, he put his face right against my chest and smelled. His closeness and the intimacy of the moment caused me to shiver a little, and somewhere below us, I heard a tiny squishing noise as my vagina clenched in a spasm of erotic pleasure. "It smells of you, and me, and new wood." He looked at me and I nodded slowly.

He ducked below my chin and put his face against my body again, and my knees almost collapsed as I felt his tongue circle my stoma very, very slowly. It dipped inside as I inhaled, momentarily blocking off my air, then withdrew, allowing me to complete the breath. He inhaled as I exhaled, and then his mouth was on my neck, the breath from his lungs filling mine, and I let it, becoming perfectly passive as he breathed for me. He released me as I inhaled and I used my hook to draw his mouth back to my neck, and I filled his lungs as he'd filled mine. He put his cheek against my left breast, and then, without warning, I felt him start to shake.

"I thought you were dead, Annie. I saw the car, and the blood and the glass and …" he whispered, and then fell silent.

Jim began to sag, and I had no choice but to slide with him until we were sitting on the floor, my back against the new kitchen island. He pulled his knees up into a fetal position and clung to my hips as he sobbed like a child. I sat with his head on my lap, trying to comfort him with the cold steel hook on the end of my plastic arm. I murmured words of endearment, and love, and thanks and he never heard them. My lips moved, my heart ached but the only sound in the kitchen was the sound of my best friend weeping.

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