Exposing the Caregiver Ch. 01

I want to extend a HUGE thank you to my editor! I am sure this was a tall order to edit.

To the readers: I hope you enjoy the story. Please let me know what you think, feedback is really the driving force behind my writing these stories. Also, is it worth continuing?

Day 1: The Reassignment

They say working with the handicapped is a labor of love, a calling. For Clare, it was a job, plain and simple. Clare had entered college with every intention of completing nursing school and finding a job in a hospital maternity wing. Yet, life has a funny way of taking your dreams, crumpling them up, and throwing them aside. Something that Clare was well aware of as she stepped through the front door of "Loved Ones," a group home for the elderly and disabled.

To say that all nursing school dropouts end up working at places like Loved Ones would be a disservice to the vast majority of Clare's coworkers. For them, it was a labor of love, and they worked tirelessly to make sure the residents lived comfortably. That just did not describe Clare. She entered the foyer and sighed. Another day in Hell...

"Hey Clare!"

She turned to see the Billy, the longtime receptionist at Loved Ones. She thought to herself, as she did every time she saw Billy, Who the hell hires a male receptionist?

"Morning Billy," Clare replied without slowing.

"You look nice today," she heard him say in the background.

Of course she looked nice, I always look nice, Clare thought. She just didn't need every creeper telling her so.

Clare knew Billy had a crush on her. Heck, she assumed every guy had a crush on her. Why wouldn't they. She was in the prime of her life at age 24, worked out daily, and had a body most women would kill for. Her "girls," as she called her breasts, were her best asset and often left men tripping over themselves to get her attention. Too bad, here in the small town of Triton, none of them had any money. Just a month or two more and I can leave this trailer trash hellhole behind, she thought. Maybe nursing had not panned out, but she could still try modeling.

Clare ignored a few more coworkers on the way to the employee break room and sighed again when she entered the outdated, adjacent locker room. She was better than this!

"Well, well, good of miss high-and-mighty to show up."

Clare spun towards the voice, already knowing who it belonged to. Amy Gratsa was one of those other nurses, the ones who actually gave a shit about the people living here. Clare knew Amy worked her ass off to give her residents the best possible care. Of course, Amy was butt-ass ugly which meant she probably had no other options. Hell, if Clare looked like her, she would probably work harder too. The look Clare gave Amy was the same look she gave her shoe when she stepped in gum, and Amy knew it.

"Why do you even show up?" Amy asked. "Nobody wants you here."

Clare harrumphed. "Seems to me every guy in the building wants me here. Of course, you wouldn't know anything about that Awful Amy," Clare replied, laughing at her own cleverness.

Amy slammed her locker shut and whispered, "Bitch" under her breath as she stormed past.

Clare ignored the insult and opened her locker. In truth, she would forget about the whole encounter in a few minutes anyways. Amy was beneath her. Clare stripped out of her blouse and put on her pink "uniform," which was basically a set of scrubs with "Loved Ones" embroidered on the breast. Not the most fashionable clothing, but Clare still looked dynamite in it. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, slipped her purse into the locker, and headed back to the hallway.

She was on her way to the first of her three "friends," which was what the employees were supposed to call the residents, when she saw Nathan. Ugh, she thought, picking up her pace.

"Clare," he called.

Clare stopped, knowing she could not ignore the appalling man. Nathan was in his mid-forties, but looked more like 60. He was overweight, nearly bald, and had these beady little eyes that Clare always thought were looking everywhere but her face.

"A moment please," Nathan said as he closed the distance. "I've heard some troubling news."

That got Clare's attention, "Huh?"

"Clare, you know we pride ourselves on providing quality care here at Loved Ones, right?"

"Of course, Mr. Fredrickson."

"Good," he replied, his eyes darting towards her chest. "The thing is, I've had another complaint from one of our friends."

Shit, Clare thought. Stupid patients, what more did they want?

"This is your third complaint Clare," Nathan continued. "You know the rules, 4 strikes and you're out." Who the fuck says 4 strikes and you're out, Clare thought, I know the man probably never played a sport in his life, but come on...

The thought made Clare accidentally snickered, something she immediately knew to be a mistake.

"Is something funny?" Nathan remarked, stopping mid-spiel.

"N—no, sir," Clare stammered, "Sorry."

"Good. As I was saying, you have been reassigned."

"Reassigned?"

"Yes, you will be helping Mr. Grange, Mrs. Tyle, and Mr. Drough," Nathan ordered, staring directly at her face now. "Make sure you do a better job than you have been doing. I will be watching."

Clare gulped and nodded. She knew what that tone implied. She might actually get fired!

Nathan turned and marched away, mumbling to himself. Clare watched him go, her mind racing. Mr. Grange, okay, he should be pretty easy. The guy was practically a vegetable. Mrs. Tyle would be a bit harder, the old windbag liked to bitch about everything, but if Clare just nodded her head, she should be fine. Mr. Drough was a question mark. He was fairly new and Clare had not met him yet. Of course, if he was in Loved Ones, how bad could he be? I mean, we were not talking about geniuses here.

Clare breezed through the first part of her schedule, making sure to go above and beyond wherever possible. Silently, she bitched every minute, but the residents only saw her smiling face. Mrs. Tyle even thanked her for her help, calling her a "nice young lady." Clare was actually humming happily when she arrived at Mr. Drough's "apartment."

"Hiya, Mr. Drough," she said merrily after a quick knock, but came to a screeching halt halfway through the door.

In front of her was a younger man, probably 20 or 21, with his hand down his pants watching a woman running down the beach on TV. He turned towards her in horror and yanked his hand free.

"D—don'tcha knock?" he stammered, visibly flustered.

Clare backtracked, she knew that she was supposed to knock and wait for the resident to welcome her in, but she had been so caught up in how well the day was going. Also, nearly everyone in this place was too old for privacy to even matter.

"I'm so sorry! I—I just thought..."

"C—can you, p—please leave!"

Clare backed out of the room and yanked the door closed. Oh shit, she thought. She had just walked in on him wanking it and... shit, Nathan would fire her for sure if he found out."

Clare felt like she could hear her own heart beating by that point. She couldn't get fired! The town of Triton was not exactly a bastion of job opportunities. If she lost this job, who knew where she would wind up? The fast food joint? Ugh, it would take her at least another 6 months to save enough to leave this hellhole! Clare had to fix this, now.

She rapped on the door, "Mr. Drough, may I come in?"

"C—come in."

This time, she gingerly opened the door and peeked into the room. Mr. Drough's pants were pulled into place and his t-shirt was tucked in. He was staring at the floor, ashamed.

Fuck, she thought. This little shit is going to complain for sure.

"I truly am so sorry, Mr. Drough!"

The man continued to stare at the floor in silence.

"Please, please forgive me," Clare pleaded, and was relieved when he finally looked up at her. Encouraged, Clare tried to quickly blow past the little misunderstanding, "I'm Clare. It is so nice to meet you."

Mr. Drough looked at her outstretched hand for a moment before hesitantly accepting her offer. "I—I'm G—Greggory, but p—people call me Greg."

Clare exhaled. Whew, he seemed calmer. Maybe she could salvage this. He was still stumbling in his speech, but Clare recalled the nursing notes mentioning a speech impediment. She also vaguely recalled the notes rambling on about learning disabilities or something. Judging from what she had witnessed earlier, he was definitely fine physically. Gaining confidence that the worst was past, Clare's mind began to run through a mental checklist of what she needed to get accomplished. Her responsibility with Mr. Drough was to ensure that he maintained adequate hygiene, ate his food, and engaged in some exercise—which looking at his portly gut, he could use more of.

"Nice to meet you Greg. How are you feeling today?" Clare said, all business now.

"Y—you saw my p—private place!" Greg replied, his face beginning to turn red.

The accusation shocked Clare and dispelled her belief that everything was now fine. "No, no, I did not see anything, I promise."

The glare Greg leveled in her direction left little doubt as to his feelings. Clare had to get this under control!

"Greg, how about we just... forget about that and have some lunch?" Clare coaxed, calling forth her sweetest voice. "How does lunch sound?"

"No!" Greg shouted.

"Greg, please keep your voice down," Clare asked, starting to panic.

"Y—you saw my wie—," the accusation was silenced by Clare's hand clamping down on his mouth.

"Greg, I said I was sorry," Clare said, trying a more forceful tactic, "We have to move on. Will you stop yelling if I remove my hand from your mouth?"

The boy—since he was acting like one—still looked at her with accusatory eyes, but nodded.

"Good," Clare said, considering the matter finally settled. Sometimes, you just had to put your foot down. "Now, what would you like for lunch?"

"Nothing, I d—don't want nothing!"

Clare looked skyward. Why? Why did I have to get this patient?

"Greg, you have to eat. Look at the lunch menu! You can have a turkey sandwich or grilled cheese. Doesn't that sound yummy?"

"I don't w—want a s—stupid sandwich. I w—want you to leave," Greg stammered while making an overly-dramatic pouting gesture.

Again, Clare cursed her misfortune. Things were spiraling out of control and she was in full panic-mode now.

"Greg, please..." she started, but he was not even answering her now. He just sat there, arms folded and staring in the opposite direction.

Clare walked around the bed to get his attention and Greg immediately turned the other way. Oh come on! This is like talking to a fucking teenager...

Clare was still slinging mental insults when movement on the TV caught her attention. The same show was still playing, and now the busty lifeguard was helping some kid out of the ocean while a crowd cheered her on. Only on TV, she thought and moved to turn the damn television off when an idea hit her.

Her immediate response was, Hell no! Yet, after the initial shock, she began to think it might work... shit, would I really do that? As visions of her busting her ass in a fast food joint flashed through her head, she knew the answer. It's kind of... like modeling, she thought, trying to justify the insane idea. She took a deep breath. It was better than getting fired.

"Greg..." Clare said gently, still not getting a response. "Tell you what, I noticed you liked watching that woman on TV." Clare's heart was beating like crazy now. She took another deep breath and plunged forward. "Would you eat lunch if—if I showed you that?"

Greg finally looked at her, "Huh?"

Clare swallowed, her mouth suddenly devoid of moisture. "Here's the deal. If you eat your lunch and behave, I will show you my breasts," Clare responded quickly, before she lost her nerve.

The confused look slowly morphed into excitement as realization set in. Inevitably, Greg's gaze shifted downwards, towards the very things she had just promised to show him. Greg was now grinning from ear-to-ear. That grin left Clare second-guessing herself. Had she really just promised to show him her breasts if he behaved?

Oh, I bet you're happy now, Clare thought. Ugh, just get through the day, give him a quick flash of your bra, and everybody wins.

Not surprisingly, Greg was suddenly a model patient. He requested a grilled cheese for lunch without any more fuss and blazed through his daily routine. His eyes were plastered to her chest the entire time... but, Clare figured at least this should earn her rave reviews when everything was said and done.

When Greg took care of his dental hygiene, his last "chore" of the day, he excitedly dashed from the bathroom and plopped onto the end of his bed.

"A—all done!" he exclaimed while Clare jotted down her final notes on his worksheet.

"Good job!" she responded, with more than a bit of sarcasm. How much congratulations does brushing your teeth really warrant? Deep down, Clare knew that it was not the brushing of his teeth that had her on edge, it was what it implied. Greg was done for the day and her promise was due.

"Greg, you were very good today," Clare said, testing for wiggle room.

"Thank y—you, Ms. Clare," Greg responded, staring intently at her chest.

Not much wiggle room. Clare sighed, might as well get it over with.

"Alright Greg, here is your reward for doing such a good job." Clare looked away, took hold of her uniform's shirt, and pulled it upwards. She felt a swish of air brush across the tops of her breasts as her bra was exposed. She heard Greg gasp right before her hands yanked her shirt back down. Whew, she thought. Not so bad. Unfortunately, when Clare turned back to her patient, it was not jubilation, but anger that filled his features.

"H—hey! Y—you p—promised."

Clare was stunned. She had promised to show him what he had seen on TV, which she did. What more did the little shit want?

"Greg, now you know—"

"No! Y—you promised," he shouted, cutting her off. Clare's hand clamped down on his mouth for the second time that day.

"Greg, I did what I promised," Clare tried again, hoping to reason with him. When Greg's head began to shake "no," Clare knew she was in a pickle.

"Shit," she whispered, and Greg's eyes widened at the language. Great, now I got to worry about him reporting that too, she thought, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

"Ymmmhmm," Greg mumbled behind her hand, his tongue flicking across her palm.

"Eww," she said, yanking her hand back.

"You p—promised," Greg continued the moment her hand was removed.

"Jesus, alright," Clare blurted, "I'll show you my freakin' boobs." Instantly regretting her momentary lapse in judgment.

Greg's demeanor shifted instantaneously, "Okay!"

Clare's eyes narrowed. She momentarily wondered if he had been playing her, but wrote the idea off immediately. She was not dealing with an Einstein here. That, of course, did not change what she had just agreed to...

"Okay, but just for a second," Clare said sternly, coming to terms with it all.

Greg offered no complaints as he scooted a bit closer.

So much for a quick flash of my bra, she thought and reached underneath the back of her top to unclasp her bra. Clare took hold of the bottom of her shirt for the second time, steeled her resolve, and pulled the garment skyward. This time, her bra went with the top and her youthful breasts bounced playfully into view. As if enjoying their newfound freedom, Clare felt nipples start to harden.

Greg's eyes seemed to illuminate as he took it all in. His mouth worked soundlessly, and Clare noticed his hand drop to his crotch. The sheer enjoyment etched on his face felt... empowering. Caught off guard, Clare did not immediately pull her shirt back down as she had planned.

Time seemed to slow down. Clare, standing there with her shirt pulled up to her chin and breasts hanging free; and Greg, mesmerized by her boobs and rubbing himself excitedly. Clare came to her senses first and yanked her shirt back into place, mentally berating herself in the process. It was supposed to be a quick flash, what the hell was she doing? Greg, no longer ashamed apparently, continued to rub himself while grinning happily. Clare concluded that now would be a good time to get the fuck out of there, and bolted for the door. She did not even take the time to fix her bra. Had anyone been looking, they would have seen her chest bouncing erratically underneath her uniform as she dashed to the employee locker room.

Day 2: A Second Exposure

Clare arrived the following day, her mind still obsessing over the day before. How did she allow herself to end up in that situation? What had she been thinking to even suggest such a thing? Every question was valid, but she had no adequate answers. Every time she replayed the events in her head, she would ultimately justify everything with, it wasn't that bad... Clare was ashamed to admit it, but a teensy-tiny part of her had enjoyed it.

Greg was not the first guy to see her topless, but he had been the most enthusiastic. Clare only dated desirable guys, guys she considered worth of her. With her past boyfriends, when it came to sex, she got the feeling that they felt entitled to it. The experience with Greg was nothing like that. He had truly been in awe of her. That kind of worship had felt... good. The scary part though, was that Greg was her resident now, which meant she would have to see him daily...

Clare went through the motions during her first two appointments. Her thoughts never far from her upcoming appointment with Greg. Mrs. Tyle commented on her distance, but Clare brushed it off with an apology. When she exited Mrs. Tyle's room, a flood of contradictory emotions were rushing through her body. Mostly, she was nervous to see Greg again, but there was a tiny thread of excitement there as well—even if Clare did not want to admit it. As she skulked to Greg's door, Clare prayed that somehow, someway, he had forgotten about the day before.

"Mr. Drough?" Clare called, a bit sheepishly, as she knocked on his door. There was no way in Hell she was barging into his room today—or any other day, for that matter.

"C—Clare, is that you?"

Clare cringed at the excitement in that voice. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and entered the apartment. Greg was sitting in nearly the exact place as yesterday, although cartoons were on the TV today. Why couldn't he have been watching cartoons yesterday, Clare lamented. Just act like everything is normal.

"Hiya, Greg. How are you today?"

"G—good," Greg stammered, "I p—promise to be g—good today."

Clare did not miss the way he stared at her chest as he made the promise. Even she could not delude herself into believing he had forgotten. She debated bringing it up and setting everything straight, but decided against it in the end. That would be a terribly awkward conversation, and perhaps ignoring it was the wiser strategy. Today will be different, she told herself.

"Great, I am glad to hear it."

They breezed through Greg's daily routine for a second day. Greg ate lunch and finished his exercises without any hiccups. Clare had to admit, it sure made things easy. Granted, his eyes were ogling her the entire time, but really, was it that different any other male? Greg headed into the bathroom to finish up his "chores," and Clare finalized her notes. Perfect, the day was almost over. When the faucet shut off and Greg dashed from the bathroom to his normal spot at the bed's edge, Clare paused. Whoa there buddy, not today.