Home Care

There are certain things that I think we all take for granted, at least for some time in our lives. Well, I had one of those things taken from me, and it wasn't fun, except for what Ginnie brought to me. Let me explain.

I live in a large city, and in a large apartment building with many tenants on each floor. So what we trade off for volume, we get some amenities. It is a nice building with kept grounds, indoor parking, and security. That's important to many of us the this growing climate of danger of being shot at the next office, post office, school yard, etc.

So I had been living at this apartment for a couple years, and began to recognize some faces after a while. Most people are personable, and nod and smile in the elevator or at the front door. And so it often takes a while for new people to make an impression, because the are quite a few people around the grounds.

But I noticed Ginnie right away. I knew through the grapevine that there was a vacancy on our floor, and that a single lady was moving in. Small town life gets nosy sometimes. And later I saw a moving truck with movers carrying boxes and furniture to the newly rented apartment on our floor. I was home that day, and offered to help the new tenant, and introduced myself to her.

She was about late 40's, but looked quite a bit younger. She was about 5'6", dark brown hair, and obviously took care of her body. She had impeccable clothes, a lithe figure that was highlighted by the taste in clothing that was in good taste in spite of the hassles of moving. But I suppose what got me going from the start was her accent. She was English. Her accent was a beautiful one of breeding, and not cockney, which is charming too. But somehow, on her, she sounded incredible. She introduced herself as Ginnie, short for Virginia.

"Everyone calls me Ginnie," she said with a smile. I was done. Something about the combination of her looks and her smile, and that accent were just the right combination for me to set my imagination going. Sometimes you really cannot explain the things that set off your inner attraction. But with her, it was the whole package.

I spent some time in England during college, and had dated a few English women. So there was this accent thing I had. Also, I had always been attracted to older women. I liked the experience they brought to a relationship, and how there was frequently less game playing because they knew what the wanted from their relationships. When I was in college, I dated older women. When I was out of college, I dated women 6+ years my senior. It was my destiny, I suppose. So I was sort of smitten from the beginning. I did not know a thing about her circumstances, and why she was single, and why she was in this country, and why she was in this building, etc. But I sure wanted to find out.

I am in my mid 20's, and do a lot of traveling for my work, and so for a while, I am not around for periods of time. Then I have blocks of time off where I am not really working a regular schedule, and can do some things that I like to do. It sort of balances itself out after a while.

Over the next few weeks, I saw Ginnie here and there, and we became casual friends. I tried to offer my help with local things, where to shop, where to fix the car, where to go to eat, etc. So Ginnie would call me every so often for little things, and we would run into each other at some errand places (because she ended up going where I recommended, see). There was nothing forced about things, perhaps our age difference made things not so threatening, or plausible. We had dinners together once or twice a week, and occasionally we would do fun things together on the weekends when I was in town. I began to learn more and more about her, and why she was at this point in her life.

It turns out she is actually 52, and widowed for about 3 years. Her husband of 20+ years died from a work-related accident, and she had always wanted to live in the United States. So after her period of mourning, she had substantial means from her late husband's estate and insurance and she decided to move closer to her cousin who lives in the same city. After a couple weeks staying with her and her family, she stumbled on the apartment in this building, and she was trying to build a new life for herself.

She would get rather quiet when she spoke of her late husband. The had two grown children, now out of the house and in college in the States too, so all the more reason to come abroad. Her prior occupation was in nursing, but that was may years ago she said, before children. That was how she met her husband. I didn't pry for information. It sort of came out gradually with our conversations over this topic and that. I got the feeling she was still sort of mourning, and I didn't want to open cans that weren't meant to be opened. At least not yet for her. She offered information, and I listened.

So she spent her days learning her way around the city, and arranging her affairs about the apartment, which she decorated quite tastefully. She had much nice furniture from England, and her taste in decorating was impeccable. She was also into aerobics, and was an avid member of the nearby gym. Time was her friend, and she seemed to be happy in her new life.

Then things for me changed. One of those things I took for granted was my health. I was always healthy, never injured, and never had to see a doctor about anything. Then a couple months ago everything changed. I was helping a friend with some painting on a house he was renovating with his wife, and one of the air compressors we were using for painting exploded when we were cleaning it, and severely injured my hands. Both hands suffered burns to the forearm on me, and my friend had much more minor scrapes from the accident. I however, ended up in the hospital for weeks, undergoing several surgeries for corrective surgery, skin grafting and rehabilitation. I knew my overall picture was lucky. I had no other major injuries. But losing the use of your hands makes one so dependent on others, from eating, to driving to wiping your own ass. Not easy, and very humbling. But I was recovering and Ginnie was among my best friends during my recovery. She was visiting me in the hospital, helping me understand the doctor talk from her experience in nursing, and helping me take care of my life and my apartment while I was in the hospital.

So pretty soon, I was transferred to a rehab section of the hospital for more aggressive therapy and for preparation for discharge. A social worker was given my case, and told me I would probably need a home care nurse for my dressing changes, and for other things like meals and bathing for the next couple weeks, at least that's what the doctors thought. Then when I told Ginnie of the good news of my release, she said in her own proper way, that she would hear nothing of the sort. She had nursing skills, and though they were rusty, she still remembered how to change dressings, and do the bathing, etc. She can be very convincing, and she convinced the staff that she was capable and learned what to do in the hospital, and that the insurance company could save some money. She agreed to bring me in for weekly rechecks and outpatient therapy, and she would be happy to help me out, as I was helpful to her in her move to this city.

I was sort of embarrassed at my situation, but certainly enjoyed and appreciated Ginnie's offer, that I just let the chips fall. So after 3 weeks in the hospital, I was finally released to home, under Ginnie's care. She had all the supplies and instructions, and had taken great care of my apartment in my absence. It actually looked better than when I left because everything was clean and even arranged a little better, with some of her taste here and there. I told her immediately how much I appreciated her help and that I thought the changes she made were quite wonderful.

We sort of settled in to our routine of Ginnie coming over in the morning for the am dressing change, and she would make some food for the day. I began to be able to at least feed myself, and she didn't need to be around all day. She said she actually liked having someone else to take care of, after her husband died and the children were out of the house. She genuinely enjoyed helping me and I truly depended on her. She was able to still have her life, and I didn't want to be a leach or a pest. I didn't ask for much that she didn't already plan on doing. I can get be pretty well with a couple sandwiches and the remote control.

As my life started getting back to normal, and I wasn't needing so much medicine, and things weren't hurting all the time, I began to realize that other natural urges had not been satisfied in more than a month. That's a long time for me. If I'm not involved with someone romantically, I usually have a date with the right hand daily. I just need the relief and have the urges at least that often. The bandages were no easy matter in this regard either. I was at a loss, because I was beginning to feel some urgency in not having had an orgasm in so long, and no solution in the immediate future.

I had to be a little more discreet in the evenings when Ginnie would help me into the shower. Our routine was that at first she would use a wet washcloth and sponge me off, leaving my crotch covered with a towel, and then just at the end, quickly lift the towel too gently bathe my genital area. Over the last few days, I began to eagerly anticipate the quick, but knowing few seconds of attention to my deprived groin, and I began to get an erection just as we started the routine. So by the time she got to bathe my cock and balls, I was quite fully erect.

"I can see we're feeling better, then, aren't we?" she asked with a sly smile.

"It sure has been a long time, you know. I don't think I can remember ever having gone this long without, you know, release," I replied, fishing for a response.

She just smiled, and kept on her business.

After a few days of this, I was getting quite frustrated with the situation, and I was beside myself for an orgasm. I think Ginnie must have sensed my urgency, and then the next day, she changed the routine a little.

Things began the same, with her wrapping up my arms, and tucking the towel between my legs, rather like a diaper. And I was already quite hard just from anticipation and the weeks of pent-up immobilization.

"My, we certainly are eager today, aren't we?" she smiled. The smile was accompanied by her sweet accent and knowing glance into my eyes. She began to clean me off as usual, but spent some more time around my thighs and stomach, sort of lingering more than usual. Then when she got to my groin, she lifted the towel off instead of pushing it aside, and looked long and hard at my long and hard cock, red and bursting with weeks of sperm.

"I think I know what might help you," she said, and reached down beside the bed for some baby oil she had brought to occasionally put on my feet and arms. "I used to do this for my husband all the time. There were many times when he needed some relief, and I was not entirely in the mood. Or I was too pregnant." She sort of took on a dreamy, far-away look as she massaged the oil into her hands. She stared off into space and kept massaging her hands together, as if remembering fond long ago times she had.

I couldn't take my eyes off her hands, as they were massaging together, hoping beyond all hope that they would really touch me, really stroke my cock as she looked like she might. She kept to herself for an eternity. Actually it was only a few moments, but it felt like forever.

Then she reached down and took my cock in her slippery hands and just squeezed my and held my cock in her hands, looking down at my cock, with the head sticking up beyond her hand, and oozing with precum.

"I forgot how good it felt to hold a hard-on in my hands," she said, still with that dreamy, far-away look in her eyes. "My husband would love when I did this for him. It would satisfy him so. He needed his treat almost daily, even sometimes twice a day when we were first married," she continued, as if narrating a story for me. "I remember how much he would look at me with love

and passion in his eyes as I was stroking him." With that she began to stroke my hard cock up and down, slippery with the oil in her hands.

She looked at me and smiled when I let out a moan of sheer pleasure and relief at the at last touch of skin on my cock. " It has been so, so long since anyone, including myself, has touched me like this," I said with short breath.

"You must be all bottled up in there, now mustn't you," she smiled. "You poor dear. Here I was all this time mending to your wounds, that I forgot about your other needs. I hope I remember how to do this now. It has been a long time for me too, you realize."

"It feels incredible. I'm afraid after so long, this will be over rather quickly," I said, a little sheepishly.

"Well, you just lie there and let your friend Ginne take care of this need you have. Are you like my husband too? Needing some relief all the time?" she smiled at me briefly, looking in my eyes with a knowing look, but never taking her hands off my cock or stopping her stroking. She continued to look intensely at my cock sliding through her hands, and had a pleasing smile on her face. "I forgot how much I liked to bring pleasure to a man too. I can tell you are liking this, aren't you?"

I could only nod my head in agreement, and cold feel myself quickly approaching my orgasm. I looked at her hands stroking my oily shaft in her small hands, and she let one hand go to gently squeeze my balls. She grasped me harder and continued her deliberate rhythm of this wonderful hand job.

I clenched my eyes for a moment at the impending climax, but I wanted to see myself shoot my come al over my chest and her hands. I didn't want to take my eyes off this sight that I wanted embedded into my memory forever.

"A man shouldn't have to go for so long without a good come. It's just not natural," Ginnie continued, obviously enjoying this, but not nearly as much as me. "I just cannot believe I've been so neglectful." She continued her stroking of my shaft and squeezing my balls with her hands, moving a little quicker now. " I guess I haven't forgotten after all. I can feel it getting closer and closer."

Again, I just nodded, and kept my gaze transfixed on her hands moving on me. I couldn't speak even if I wanted to.

"Now you just let yourself go, and have a good come for me. I will clean everything up, don't you worry about a thing. Yes, that's right my love, just go on and let it go. Come for us."

Her voice was almost a whisper now, and I was almost there. In a few more strokes, I cold feel the orgasm hit me like I can't remember before. I could feel by balls tighten up as I shot my load high up into the air as Ginnie stroked and pumped me in rhythm to my spasms. The first shot landed up over my left shoulder; I could hear it hit the pillow beside my head. And then I kept shooting more and more cum that I ever remember onto my chest and stomach. Ginnie pumped and squeezed the sperm out of me and I nearly passed out from pleasure and final, ultimate release.

She held my cock in her hands as it continued to leak cum down onto her hand and overflowed to my stomach. I was so overwhelmed with relief at this sensation, and I know it was because it had been so long, but the total experience was unbelievable. I couldn't speak; I just took deep breaths and smiled up at my angel who brought me this gift.

"Well then, it sure has been a long time. I don't ever remember seeing my John come like that before. But I don't think in all the years of our marriage I let him go for more that one of two days without some kind of treat. A man might wander off, don't you know, if a woman doesn't keep him happy as far as this goes," she said with a firm squeeze of my still-hard cock. "You sure did need that, I could tell"

She used the towel that was wrapped around my groin earlier to clean things up. She wiped the drops of cum that were pooled on my stomach, around my balls, and running down the sides of my chest. She even reached up to wipe to drop that went up to the pillow, and smiled and said, "I don't remember seeing anyone shoot it up this high love." In reaching up, her breasts were only inches from my face, and reached my head up a little to get a little closer and inhale her scent and perfume.

She looked down at me trying to get a little closer to her gorgeous tits, and lingered there for a moment longer than she had to, and perhaps leaned down a little further. Perhaps that was my imagination though.

Her task completed, she began straightening things up to leave, and helped me into my clothes, giving my cock one last squeeze before tucking things away. I finally regained my voice, and said, "I needed that so much. It had been longer that I can remember. That felt so good, Ginnie. You obviously haven't forgotten how to please a man with your hands. That was truly wonderful. Thank you."

"Don't think anything about it, dear. I am just sorry you had to wait this long." She cheerily finished her few things, and told me she'd see me tomorrow. And perhaps it was my imagination again, but I thought she emphasized 'see' just a little more that before.

The next day, after I slept better than previous nights, Ginnie came by in the morning to do the dressings, and fix a few things to eat for the day, while she was out doing her thing. "Well, how did we sleep last night? A little more relaxed today," she said with that sly smile.

"Yes, quite," I said, with as much of an English accent as I could. "My hands are a little more sore today though. I think I tried to grab the sheets last night, or something. I think I'll get over it though. Perhaps it might quicken my recovery at therapy, don't you think?"

"Perhaps," she said cheerily.

The day was rather uneventful, and I was looking forward to this evening, hoping Ginnie would make this hand job a nightly ritual too. I replayed in my mind over and over her giving me an incredible hand job, and hearing her voice telling me to let it go and come for her, and seeing her smile as I shot my load all over the place.

Ginnie knocked on the door after dinner, about the usual time, and asked if I was ready for my bath. I wasn't sure if there was anything to read into the question, so we just went into the bedroom as before, and she helped me out of my clothes, again covering my groin modestly with a towel, just as before.

Of course, I was immediately hard with anticipation, but not wanting to ask for a repeat of last night, lest I take advantage of her kindness. She smiled at my condition, and went about her regular routine, chatting away about her day, and a little about her late husband John. I sensed that dreamy quality to her voice, and helped her to remember things at her own pace, and let her do the talking. She seemed more willing to talk about him than before and offered more bits and pieces about their relationship.

She spent more time bathing me than usual, and continued her monologue about her past. I just relished in the attention, and she obviously enjoyed pulling up some burried memories. As she got closer and closer to the groin part of the wash, she looked at my cock pushing the towel up, and smiled, "Are we needing our little treat again then?"

"Yes, please. It felt so good, and I would like it very much if you would do it again," I said as politely as I possibly could, without begging. Though I probably would have done that too.

"Well, we just can't leave you all worked up like this, can we?"

She pulled the towel away, and smiled at my aching hard on, jutting up from my stomach, eagerly awaiting her touch. My cock jumped a little at its release. "I was hoping you would say that."