Working in Physical Therapy

I'd never worked as a caregiver before, but the listing on Facebook offered $25 an hour--more than the bakery that laid me off in the pandemic, and almost three times as much as my tutoring job at university. Honestly, I was more attracted to the job because the woman who made the listing made arcane and unusual queer art, and I hoped that by working for Rosemary, I could be a part of that process and have interesting conversations with her about her work.

The position didn't involve that. Semi-bedridden, with scoliosis and a severe neuromuscular disorder, the job was to physically elongate and align her spine, stretch her feet and ankles, and use TheraBand to help her work out her glutes and core to prepare her to balance once she sat up. I'm an athletic guy, which helped, but it was physically demanding and put me into a lot of compromising positions. My wrists, thumbs and fingers would be in pain after I'd left, and it required a lot of bending over, so my back would hurt, too, especially in my car on the long commute from my apartment to her rural home. But Rose was smart and fun to talk to; I got along with her just fine, and the money helped.

It was difficult for her to find caregivers. I made the mistake of recommending my friend Eve come work for her too. As the only two people working for her, we never had a day off together, and when Eve got covid, Rose made me work for two weeks straight; I was 19 and I didn't know I could say no. After all, it was care she needed to survive. She needed to breathe. Did I "need" to have a day off?

When the semester began again, I reduced my hours to one day a week, and worked through the year. Eve had long since quit. As it became more and more difficult to find people, she gave me a raise: $30 an hour, plus $15 each day for my commute. I trained over twenty new hires but none of them stayed long.

The scarcity of coworkers made the job emotionally draining, too. I did eventually learn that I could take time off, but every time I asked, I had to be prepared for Rose to ask me not to. It was more tolerable, in some ways, than a job where nothing you do matters, and you can slack off as long as you look like you're busy. I always had to be paying attention, because if I didn't do the movements right, she'd have me do them over again. But it was difficult to manage both her stress and discomfort and her mother's.

Her disability and their relative isolation put incredible strain on her relationship with her mom, Judy, who was over sixty and had chronic pain of her own. Oftentimes we would begin our routine together with me trying to focus on my job while Rose and her mother were fighting about how much care she needed, with Judy trying to extricate herself and my client insisting that she needed more from her. It was more than a full-time job for Judy--Rose's dad had dementia and she was looking after two enormous dogs, too. I don't know how she did it.

There was one other person I'd see around the house sometimes: her tall, narrow younger brother, Ed. He had a mustache and short brown hair. Ed was a contractor and wasn't around much, he didn't live there. But sometimes he'd be in the kitchen washing the dishes and he'd make small talk with me. He was nice enough, paying me compliments and letting me know that I was needed and appreciated, but as time went on, I didn't want to speak much with him. At first it was because I wanted to conserve my energy and soak up precious down time in the kitchen in silence, and then later with a sense of guilt as I steeled myself to quit. After all, I was a student. I had lots of other career options, and I was pretty sure I didn't want to work this painful job forever, even though I was grateful to have learned so much and made such a cool friend doing it. I stopped replying so much to his efforts to reach out. Judy was also always trying to make nice conversation. I think they knew how difficult it was emotionally, and they were trying to endear themselves to me. Or maybe they were lonely. Either way it couldn't have stopped me. I was 21, ready to take back all the time I was currently giving to Rose, and on my way out.

Rose didn't make enough money as an artist to pay me; my timesheets and Judy's were sent to an agency which processed wages funded by Medicare. The agency had always been stingy and difficult but that summer through some evil finagling I wasn't paid for over a month and a half. Hotter than ever, I sweated away in her air-conditioned room in a wet shirt to stay cool as I lifted, pulled, and pushed her feet around in a deep squat, silent now that she was in an intensive online art class that she tuned into with her Bluetooth earbuds. As the end of July neared, I told my client I wouldn't come in until I was paid. Judy wrote me a check out of pocket for the $2000+ I was owed. I knew at that point that I wanted to quit. I think Rose knew, too; we'd been experimenting together to try to find different ways I could do her routine that wouldn't be quite so painful for me, but there were none.

One day I was bathing Rose and Ed came in to tell us a story about something the dogs had done. I was bent over the bed shaving Rose's armpit before she got too cold, about to finish, when he came up behind me squeezing the back of my neck with one hand as he spoke, not stopping his story. He and Rose laughed; I hustled to the bathroom to retrieve Rose's shirt from the towel warmer, thinking I'd imagined it. But then as I gripped her head, lifting it to slide the shirt around her ears, he sidled right up next to me. I felt his hand again on my back as he told me how graceful I was when I did that. His fingers slid gently down my spine to graze my ass, and then my pussy.

"Can you not?" I interrupted.

"Not what?"

"Don't touch me while I'm working, please," I said tightly, focused on manipulating Rose's spine.

"Oh, sorry. Anyways,"

Of course, he would make me seem sensitive and touchy. As we finished the final adjustments and I gave her some water, and Rose had me reinsert the earbud, Ed retreated from Rose's view and sat on a chair directly behind me, my ass not two feet from his face in the small room. I cleaned up the bathing stuff and he followed me out into the living room as I made a dash for my timesheet and the door.

"Hey, hold up. I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about that?"

As we entered the kitchen, we both saw Rose's Dad and smelled the stinky canned soup he was heating up on the stove. "That smells awful," Ed said under his breath, turning around. "Let's go to my old room."

"I forgive you. Just don't do it again. I'd rather go home." I was exhausted.

"Oh, Mark, please. I'm sorry. I insist. Let me make it up to you."

I stared at him.

"Really," he said. "I don't want there to be bad blood between us. I can't have that." He patted a wallet-shaped lump in his pocket and started up the stairs. I guess I was pissed and wanted an opportunity to complain to someone who might listen and internalize it. I was ready to chew this guy out if he'd pay me for it. Plus, I was curious. I'd never been upstairs before.

Ed's childhood room felt disused except for piles of papers in boxes on the ground. There was one window and a dinosaur-shaped lamp, which he turned on. Gesturing for me to sit in the desk chair, he shut the door. He kneeled on the carpeted floor in front of me.

"Let's talk about this. I didn't know you wouldn't be ok with some friendly touch."

"I don't know why you thought I would be ok with it. That was totally inappropriate."

He winced. "Then let me apologize. I should have asked beforehand. I'm really sorry, and I want to do anything I can to make it up to you. It's really important to me that you be comfortable and happy working for Rose, it means a lot to her. I'm really honored that you're still here having this talk with me." He looked at me pitifully, eyes wide, lips pinched.

I glared at him. "I already have an internship and a partner at home. This summer I've been spending all my time putting other people first. This isn't an easy job. And then you go and get all handsy with me, staring at me. This is harassment. My need to have a safe workplace isn't more important than your loneliness, get it?" I let that sink in. Ed recoiled, then crawled up to me, sitting between my legs.

"Mark, I would do anything to make it right."

"Just let me do my job."

"I want you to feel good." He rested one hand on my thigh, still looking at me like I was his redeeming angel. Pathetic. Still, my dick stirred.

"Get that hand off me, and pay me, please." I stood up. He opened his wallet and removed some wrinkled twenties, but he didn't hand them over.

"I'll give these to you, as long as you tell me something I can do to make you feel good. I know you're having a hard time with Rose, I get it, and money can only go so far to make it right. Would you let me... make it better?" He rested his two hands on the waistband of my shorts and made a begging smile. "Please. Let me work you over. Use me..."

What the hell. If he was so eager to be my personal fleshlight, I'd do it. I dragged down my shorts, grabbing a fistful of his hair, pulling back so he stared up at me. His lips opened softly, tongue emerging wet and plump, and I pressed my dick into his hot face.

"Mmmmmh," he moaned, eyes rolling back. His tongue flicked and twirled over the folds of my labia and the shaft of my cock. I held his skull in a tight grip and ground myself into his hot, stupid mouth, squeezing his head into place and keeping him from escaping with my quads.

"You're obsessed. I can't believe I'm letting you do this. I don't even like you. Finger my pussy, loser, do it right." Ed whimpered around my cock, sliding his fingers home inside me, tightly. I felt a tingle of gratification and happily used his face and nose until I saw him furiously jerking off with his other hand.

"Oh no." I pulled him off with my handful of his hair. "No touching yourself, creep. This is for me." I stalked to the bed, dragging his skull with me; Ed crawled to keep apace. I sat him with his back to the side and forced his skull so that it rested facing the ceiling, pressing him in place with my palm on the bridge of his nose, pinching his nostrils shut. "Open up." I thrust my own fingers between his lips, his tongue shifting, liquid, in my fingers. Removing it, I spat in his gasping mouth. "Now, I'm tired. I had a full shift today. I don't intend to do any more work than I have to." I laid on my back in the bed, opening my legs. "You're going to make it right by servicing me. Penetrate me and jerk me off, and make me cum."

He scrambled up, our combined spit and my cum running off his lips and falling in trailing, sticky drops on his chin and shirt. He struggled out of his clothes. "Wet your dick before you put it in," I told him, and he obeyed, hips twitching forward as he lubricated his needy, throbbing dick. He came forward and slid inside me. My lips wrapped around him tightly, and I flexed my dick with pleasure as he bottomed out and ground his cock in circles.

"Ohhhh," he groaned quietly. "Oh, Mark. It's so juicy and tight, and warm... oh. Mmmh..." His face worked between bliss and effort. He looked consternated. Dutifully he set his thumb to rubbing my cock and hitting my hungry insides with long, constant strokes, squeaking and sweating as he fucked me.

"Oh. This is the best thing I've ever felt, it's never been like this..."

"Shut up, Ed, they'll hear you. Focus on making me cum. That's all I want right now." Frustration, soreness, and the urgency of my nut lit up my whole body, screwed me up tight. My hands felt like they were crawling with ants.

He couldn't stop himself from whimpering, so I found a sock in his bed. Beckoning, he leaned forward with his mouth open wide, and I stuffed it inside to muffle his cries.

His tightening balls pressed into my ass with each hit. I was panting. It wasn't enough.

"Fuck me harder," I commanded, "and don't stop until I say so." Ed pounded me, his stymied crying growing more urgent. My ears popped. I felt my own pleasure building up as he penetrated me, and I gave in to a shuddering, wrenching orgasm, Ed pounding me through it, jerkily, as he held back. "Stop." He withdrew.

I lay still for several minutes, rubbing my softening cock, Ed at my feet.

"Lay on the ground. You can jerk off now." After only a few pumps, he spurted a big load of cum all over himself--it lay in thick lines and drops on his stomach, chest, and hand, trickling down his balls. I took his shirt and used it to wipe up my dick, then threw it at his chest and grabbed the money he'd laid out for me.

Ed removed the sock from his mouth. "Yeah, take that," he said, nodding at the money. He smiled hopefully at me, but I already had my shorts on, and I walked out.

Driving home, I felt undeniably calmer and more resolved; clearheaded and relaxed. I quit that job a week later. I saw Ed one more time, as I was walking out to my car, and he was his usual friendly self, although maybe a bit more guarded. Rose was only a little surprised. She told me it was unexpected and asked me to stay on sometimes to train new people; I hadn't given her enough notice. But I'd learned that there would be no perfect time for me to stop working for her; I made sure that my latest trainee was good at the bread and butter of her program and then left. I only had a few weeks until school, so I'd use that time to get it together and prepare for senior year. I had savings.

In those weeks I rubbed a few out thinking about that encounter with Ed, feeling both troubled and gratified. He was right--money is limited. In fact, I'd felt a little odd about the bills he gave me--I hadn't wanted to spend them or keep them, and now they sat in a drawer on my nightstand. If I could have had more time off, more co-workers to share the load, someone helping me care for my body, and a real community I shared with Rose and her family, I think I could've happily cared for that woman for a long time. I could have even loved Ed, I supposed, but I snorted at the thought. Sex was his way of trying to provide all of that, and it failed. We were using each other to get off, solve the problem of depending on each other.