This is about two people with body abnormalities caused by accidents they were not responsible for. To those who will somehow think I'm shaming a category of people, lighten up, we see people like this all throughout our lives. Then there will be the people who think the story should have taken a different direction, a different outcome, and on and on. To those few I have a suggestion. You too can write and submit a story that will be subject to the comments of others. Good and bad.
I've not been able to write much since the first of the year, consequently I've had more time to read. Where oh where are the new writers with something worth reading? If my stories had ratings like so many of the newest crop I would be embarrassed. There was a time when it might take me a few hours to peruse all the new stories for a day. Now, it usually takes about 30 minutes to skip over all the cuck and wife sharing stories. Don't even get me started on the direction most of the IR stories have gone.
If you're into big tits, shaved pussies, wife sharing and cucks. Go no further, this story will disappoint. It's an ooey, gooey, happy clappy, love story with a pleasant ending.
Down On Love
How does one come to live like a hermit at the age of thirty-three? It's easy, at the age of thirty-one you get knocked off scaffolding four sections high by a forklift driver that ignored the bright orange safety cones surrounding the scaffolding. I spent just shy of a year in hospitals and rehab centers. Lawyers representing me had apparently found that not all things were on the up and up concerning inspections and safety issues, then went after them with a vengeance. Knowing there was a lawsuit afoot the guy I worked for had called his lawyers immediately, I was awake just long enough at the hospital to agree to have them represent me before being placed in an induced coma.
It was supposed to be a quick addition of an electrical circuit for new space heaters being installed in the docking area. I had one of the apprentices help me set up the four high section of scaffolding and then sent him on his way, what I was about to do was a simple one-man, two- or three-hour job. I set out a circle of orange warning cones about ten feet wider than the scaffolding, tossed the tool pouch over my shoulder and ascended the scaffold. I'd run the conduit weeks prior, with the job being a two to three hour venture we saw no reason to transport the scissor lift, besides, it was needed elsewhere.
Long story short, the forklift driver came flying around the corner and through the overhead door opening with one eye driving and the other on his cell phone. By the time he realized he was in deep shit it was too late, as he tried to quickly turn one of the forks caught the scaffold and away I went. I was told long after the incident that I went flying ass over tea kettle, dropping over twenty-three feet completely unimpeded and hit the cement floor full force. All I remember of the incident was waking and thinking I was going to die, the extreme pain in my right shoulder and leg was more than my body could endure. It was hard to breathe, I kept going in and out of consciousness in the ambulance.
By the time my body was healed enough to be taken out of the coma all the legal stuff was in full swing, I could have cared less, all I wanted to do was somehow be able to walk, talk and live life in some modicum of comfort. My right shoulder had been shattered commanding a complete rebuild, two ribs on my right side were broken, one had punctured my lung, the right femur was broken just below the ball part of the hip joint. Somehow or another when the scaffolding toppled over it broke my left ankle and left a nasty cut in my head. Go figure. As my older sister said when I was brought back to consciousness, "I was an F-ing mess.
Considering the town I lived in had no permanent medical facilities beyond a few clinics I was placed in a facility over an hour from home, my older sister Ellen visited me every other week, none of my other siblings ever did. Two I couldn't fault, they were both living abroad, the other was a drug addled loser who couldn't keep himself clean more than a day, if that. The last we knew he lived somewhere in the Des Moines area, we hadn't seen or heard from him in over two years. Though I was making progress the doctors and PT people continually warned I would never be back to normal. In their words, my days of bending pipe and pulling wire were over, I could possibly hold a supervisory position, but I would likely never be hands on again other than simple tasks.
Ellen and her family were living in the house that had been the hub of our farm many years ago. When we grew up it was considered to be on the 'outskirts' of town, when I was seventeen my folks decided they'd milked long enough and it was time to cash in while the housing boom was in full swing. They sold all four hundred and sixteen acres minus ten around the homestead which still had all the original outbuildings. When our folks died the inheritance was split four ways, that was the beginning of my brothers drug addiction. Ellen used a sizeable portion of her money and bought the home place, having lived in it almost four years when my accident occurred.
Nineteen months after the accident I was been deemed capable of being on my own with a minimum of care. I moved in with Ellen, her hubby and two kids. At the ten-month mark of my moving in they got an unexpected surprise, Marvin had received a huge promotion along with greater pay and benefits, with one stipulation, they had to move to Fort Smith, Arkansas. There were no second thoughts for either of us, she sold the place and got on with life. With the original inheritance money I'd received when our folks died and the enormous settlement I received from the accident I bought a place on the lake with plenty of cash left over. Surrounding 2/3 of the lake was a national wildlife refuge, the remaining areas had been settled years prior.
I found the place quite by accident. Ellen, the kids and I had driven to the public beach area of the lake on a hot summer day about a month before they were to leave. When we passed by an older place with a for sale sign Ellen quipped.
"There ya go little brother, you should buy that place."
Which I did. Though I was mobile and could function, anything that required a lot of stamina or was laborious in nature I was not able to do. Thus I hired just about everything I needed done, which allowed me to stay sequestered in my comfortable surroundings. To the right of me was a remodeled home a quarter mile away, to the left an older battered place around three hundred feet away. The parents had long since passed on and the kids only showed up about once a year. What was once known as the twenty-seven acres of woods across the road from me had been sold and was being developed. The lot sizes were two to three acres and the homes had to be in the three hundred thousand range minimum. HOA's, the bane of modern homes.
I would sit on the front porch and smile to myself, I'd tramped those woods for years hunting rabbits, squirrels and grouse. I bagged my first eight point buck in those woods at the age of fourteen. The yuppy leaf lickers who lived there now referred to it as a sanctuary for wildlife. They'd shit their pants if they knew how many animals were killed for food in those woods through the years. I liked sitting and listening to the sounds of silence every morning either on the back porch facing the lake or the front porch watching kids as they waited for the school bus. There were two entrances to the subdivision about 100 yards apart. The kids gathered at the one furthest from me each day.
Kids would walk by my house in the morning and afternoon, at times late in the day I would be working in the rose gardens or annual flower beds in the front yard, something left by the old couple I bought the place from. In their hay day I imagine the flower and rose beds were beautiful, now they were mostly overgrown and in need of my attempts at bringing them back to the glory days with loving care.
