'Institutionalized by My Wife’s Lover', Segment Three

Michael Devereau

I am bald! And I berate myself for the strong emotional response. A young nurse, cooing supporting words as if I was a wounded child, holds up a mirror.

No hair!

It shocks... but more notably there is grief... unbecoming a man. Remaining completely incapacitated, I am in need of a tissue, and a pretty slim hand tenderly wipes away tears.

“There, there Mr. Devereau... plenty of girls go this way. Makes the morning thing go much quicker... nothing to have to fuss with,” her free hand going to smooth over scalp which for years has been covered in long tresses painstakingly groomed.

Yes, I cry. It is the reaction of a girl, estrogen level peaked. Guess in many respects that is what I have become... being emasculated for years at the mansion of Master Edward.

“I’d like to tell you that it will grow back. But that’s when I will be sent in with more lotion. It’s strong stuff... so guess you should acclimate to... you know... being without a strand of hair... anywhere. The follicles... well... they sort of surrender after a few applications. And there will be plenty of time for more of that.”

The words... intended to comfort... bring more distress. The strength of the depilation lotion need not be explained. After my beautiful long locks where brusquely chopped away, the smell of the applied cream, and moments later the searing heat of my scalp, evidenced its potency.

“Now close your eyes for me like a good girl,” the nurse coos again.

When a hand approaches my face with a razor, I do close my eyes... more in fear than compliance with her request.

My eyebrows... gone! I sob... so much wanting to resist... protest... shout... scream. Alas I cannot, the Segufix restraints remaining, the steel of my molt gag obviating any discernible words. There come only more sobs.

“I’ll get you into your masturbation mittens and you’ll be one step closer to release and getting some exercise... after your dental work. Won’t that be nice?”

With the odorous cream carefully applied to shorn eyebrows, I remain with eyes closed, now feeling the heat at my forehead. Meanwhile the girl works about my right hand, loosening the wrist strap. There comes covering, a thick material, and the sound of a click. Then the strap is again tightened and the same comes to my left hand.

“A little awkward... not being able to use your hands... to masturbate and whatever. But you’ll be fed. And a nurse will provide whatever you need... water... going potty...”

I am about to explain that near impotency has long curtailed any thoughts of masturbation. But... I am gagged.

A moist cloth, my head and eyebrows are swabbed, all remnants of the depilatory lotion removed. My head is returned to the constricting harness. After the young nurse departs, I carefully open my eyes, ironically grateful that she was most diligent in cleansing. I manage a glimpse of my right hand. What is described as a mitten is actually a small pillow covered in ruff canvas. And unlike a mitten, there is no pouch for the thumb. I cannot hold or grasp a thing. And given any degree of inclination, could certainly not joyously stroke myself, inhibiting Prince Albert ring aside.     

I try to calm myself but thoughts of my reflected image continue to distress. I am an alien. Should I somehow gain freedom, escape from where I am held, without hair... eyebrows... I am freakish in appearance. Nurse Abbie suggested I would be made to look vulnerable... and I am... vulnerable to the scornful looks of others.  

Is this standard care for this institution? Or the vengeance of Master Edward?

Then come more thoughts... to be released from the many straps... after my dental work? Both Nurse Abbie and the young grooming nurse have referenced such.

Head shaved, hands rendered useless, there comes more concern in mulling over the referenced  dental work. Mouth forcibly held open, there is no limit to my vulnerability, demonstrated each time a nurse introduces food, water... or anything else for that matter... into my mouth.