It became immediately obvious that although sex had been what we needed when we walked into the kitchen, it wasn't what we needed when we walked out. The emotions we'd undergone had moved to equally substantive ones, like love, relief and joy. When Jim recovered his composure, he helped me up, and we went to our bedroom where he undressed himself and then me. We climbed wearily into our wonderful king bed, Jim turned off the phone and he held me very tightly until we slept.
The next few days were spent in reestablishing ourselves with friends and relatives, going to rehab and visiting doctors. My burns had healed remarkably well, to the point that they really looked like sunburn. I finally told the prosthetist that I wasn't going to use the left arm he'd mocked up for me. He billed it to my benefactor and sent it to a charitable organization to use in Africa. My right arm isn't getting much easier to use, and frustrates me every day. I think I only wear it because Jim and my parents seem to want me to. I know I need to learn how to use it or I'll never be independent, but I don't have to like it.
Jim and I never did get around to sex the first week; I've been fighting a yeast infection for weeks from the antibiotics I was on, but the snuggling has been first rate. Jim seems to be avoiding my stumps, contrary to the interest he showed at first, which kind of hurts my feelings. Oh well.
Mom and dad flew in from Montana on the 3
rd
, and I have to admit that my emotions were mixed. It is really nice to have mom around to help, but she seems to think I have reverted to a 3 year old, just because she needs to help me do things. She's always been the rock of the family, but I've seen her red-eyed a couple of times. It took dad a couple of days to get used to seeing me, and I think he cries a lot. Dad is hard of hearing, so he can't understand me very well, but we find ways to communicate with each other. The nice thing is that he just seems to know what I need, so he's become a hug dispenser. Sometimes you just need a hug from your daddy, and there's nothing else in the world that will do.
The swelling in my stumps keeps going down, faster on the right side, probably because I wear the arm on that side. My left stump is funny compared to the right one. The bone doesn't go all the way to the end, so the tip droops, kind of like a little boob. I can even feel it wiggle when I walk. The scars are turning pink from the original red, and it doesn't make me want to wet my pants if I nudge something with them like before.
We had some friends over for Sunday dinner, and I got a little drunk. I guess I have less blood volume since my arms left, and two beers gets me buzzed like four did before. I won a contest with one of Jim's younger friends, he challenged Jim to a chugging contest, and I talked Jim into letting me take his place. Before the guy had his second swallow done, I had drained my mug and slapped it on the table. I didn't have to swallow, I just opened wide and let it go down, winking to Jim, who had the good grace to blush!
Jim left on business Monday morning, and it was a lonely couple of days, at least until Wednesday.
Around 1:30 Wednesday afternoon, I was going through the video drawer in our bedroom looking for something to watch. My yeast infection had been gone since Monday, so I was looking through our selection of porn for something to raise my pulse a little. I had already figured out that my hook would open far enough to grab my rabbit vibrator, and I was looking for something to enhance my already randy mood.
At the back of our drawer where the nasty stuff is kept, I found a book, small and bound in red leather. I took it to the bed and sat it down so I could open it. It turned out to be Jim's hand written journal, going back fifteen years (ten years before we met) in his small, precise writing style. I felt guilty about reading it, but it was like a train wreck; I wanted to look away but couldn't.
I started reading when we began to date. It was really sweet, and went on and on about how much he loved me. He noted several things I did in bed that drove him wild, and I filed those away for later. Overall it was heartwarming and very loving.
Then curiosity got the better of me, and I started to wonder about his prior loves. I turned to the first page.
I read a few pages in confusion, and then it dawned on me. These were records of women he'd seen on the street. Details of where, when and more. There was an acronymic code in the entries that I didn't understand. The letters SAK, SBE, DAK, LAK and others were noted in the margin beside each woman's record. And then it hit me! They were amputees! Single Above Knee, Single Below Elbow, Double Above Knee, Left Above Knee.
My Jim had a fetish for amputees!!
My heart sank in my chest and my hook started to shake. MY HOOK!
I was a DAE!
I flew into a crying panic and the only thing I could think of to do was to email Janey. I knew my parents couldn't see me like this, so I was glad they were off at the golf course. Janey responded right away and said she was on her way to the house. I tried to pour myself a shot of whiskey, but I couldn't get the damned bottle open, and I was shaking like a leaf anyway.
Janey burst through the door at a trot at the stroke of 3:00, and I just pointed to the journal. She walked to the bed and picked it up, then sat on the couch. I sat down beside her, and put my head on her lap.
"I want to go through this. From front to back. So you just make. Yourself comfy and. I'll let you know. What I think. When I'm done," she burped. She started to read from the first page, patting me occasionally as she read. When she'd finished, she sat me up and turned to face me.
