Lending a Hand (a Pandemic Story)

So I know everyone has their own pandemic stories, some of them pretty crazy. It's been a wild ride over the last two years for all of us. But I think my story just might be the wildest. I still find it hard to believe it really happened. Let me set the scene for you.

In the summer of 2019, I moved to Japan. I was 22 years old, had just graduated from college in the U.S. (University of Wisconsin), and had taken a job as an English teacher in Japan as part of a cultural exchange program sponsored by the Japanese government. The program, which included free housing, set me up with a job at a junior high school in a small town about an hour north of Osaka. I had my own small house in a little residential neighborhood on the east side of town. The houses nearest to me were occupied by families with school-aged children, most of them very young. While few of them spoke more than beginner-level English, they were incredibly welcoming and friendly, often inviting me for dinner or bringing me food or other gifts.

Everything had been going fine until early 2020, when news of the coronavirus outbreak in China, and the ensuing lockdown of Wuhan, created a lot of anxiety. The people around me (and across Japan) began wearing masks everywhere as a precaution. The subject dominated the news. And my parents back in Wisconsin started agitating for me to come home. But I wasn't inclined to leave until my year long contract ended in July.

Then things took a really unexpected turn. I was walking home from work one day, around 4:30 in the afternoon, when I saw smoke billowing from the upper floor of the house directly across the street from mine, a house belonging to an especially friendly family with two elementary school age kids. As I ran up to the house, I heard something that jarred me: kids' voices, calling for help. I immediately ran to the front door of the house; it was locked. I pounded on it. The kids continued to call out, their voices seemingly coming from the second floor. I ran around back and thankfully found the sliding door unlocked. Once inside, I was enveloped in smoke. I ran upstairs, following the yelling, and came to a door that had been blocked by a fallen beam. I don't really remember much after that; it's all a bit of a blur. But somehow I managed to move the beam and open the door, and the two kids and I made our way out of the house just as the first fire truck arrived.

The good news was that everyone was safe. The bad news was that I managed to get third-degree burns on both of my arms and hands and was in blinding pain. My next semi-clear memory was waking up in the hospital, on significant pain meds, and with both of my lower arms wrapped under many layers of thick bandaging. I was there for almost two weeks, as I recuperated and my liaison with the education ministry made arrangements for me to fly home to the U.S. upon discharge. The issue was that, while I felt much better by that point, I would need to keep the heavy bandaging on for about a month and, during that time, would need support with basic things like getting dressed, bathing, and eating food. And I didn't have any support structure in Japan. Even my few expat friends had left the country in recent weeks due to the worsening pandemic. In the hospital, the nurses were doing all of these things for me, including the awkward periodic sponge baths, but I couldn't stay there indefinitely.

The day prior to my discharge, the entire family from across the street came to visit me. Due to enhanced COVID precautions, they had not been allowed to visit previously, but the hospital administration had eventually relented and made an exception given the circumstances. The father, Ikuro, who seemed to work all the time and whom I'd only met a few times, was the first to enter the room, and he immediately gave a deep bow. The mother, Mitsuki, who was very outgoing and often brought me food, came in next with the two kids, Yuki and Akira, standing sheepishly at her side. All of them bowed politely. My eyes, as always, were drawn to Mitsuki. She was strikingly pretty, even with her mask on, and I could tell that her eyes were welled with tears of gratitude. She spoke very limited English but more than the others, so she was the one who spoke on their behalf.

"We cannot enough thank you, Jake-san. We forever owe you our gratitude." She had clearly practiced these words. I thanked them for coming and told them that anyone would have done what I'd done. I also told them that I had to go home to the U.S. and that I hoped we would meet again someday. And that was that.

But then the pandemic intervened.

On the eve of my planned discharge and flight home, everything shut down. International flights were all canceled. There was no way to get home, at least in the near term. And there was no basis for keeping me in the hospital either. So I was released to return to my house in town.

As I sat on my bed that night, the gravity of my predicament started to sink in. I was alone, in a foreign country, at the beginning of a major worldwide pandemic of unknown duration. And my hands and arms were so bandaged up and useless that I wasn't sure how I would be able to take care of myself; to eat, to use the bathroom, to shower. The challenges of living on my own, without help, were daunting to say the least. The only thought that gave me any comfort was remembering that my house, like many in Japan, had one of those high-tech toilets with a built in bidet. At least I wouldn't need someone to help me wipe my ass.

Despite that minor comfort, by that evening, I was in full on panic mode. What was I going to do? How could I possibly survive like this without help? I had no close relationships with anyone in town. The few friends I'd made since moving here, expats who lived in neighboring towns, had already gone home to their respective countries.

HELP COMES IN MY HOUR OF NEED

It was then, as if in answer to my prayers, that I heard a knock on the door. Awkwardly, using my elbows, I pushed down on the door handle and managed to open it. Standing there, masked but beautiful as ever, was my neighbor Mitsuki. She was holding several pieces of tupperware. I beckoned her inside, where she immediately set about preparing the meal she had brought me. She told me in, in her broken English, that she'd heard I was stuck here and that she was going to take care of me until my bandages were removed. She said: "You no worry; I was once nurse; I take care of you; I help with everything."

In a matter of minutes, she had heated up the food and was feeding me, spooning me bite after bite from the bento box she had prepared. I hadn't realized how famished I was until those first few bites. As she fed me, she continued to talk, in a mix of Japanese and English. She explained that they were now living with her parents across town while their house was being repaired. I knew a little Japanese by that point, enough to understand a lot of what she was saying. There was something about her that was so comforting, so maternal. My panic immediately started to subside. I knew that she was committed to taking care of me, that it was really important to her to do this. I knew that I'd be okay.

As I sat there eating, I also couldn't help but appreciate what an attractive woman Mitsuki was. Nothing about her was glamorous. Her long black hair was pulled back in a casual way over her ears, and she was wearing a simple long sleeve shirt and jeans, but the shirt was tight fitting and accentuated her slim, shapely body. She also smelled wonderful, especially compared to the various hospital smells I'd grown accustomed to over the preceding weeks. Sadly, it was also the closest I'd been to a woman in many months and as my hunger abated, other desires began to surface. As she leaned in to give me another bite, I felt my cock begin to stir and worried she might see me pitching a tent if she looked down. But she never did.

When she was done feeding me, she helped me brush my teeth. Then, before she left, she entered her phone number in my phone and told me to ask Siri to call or text her, at any time, if I needed anything. On her way out the door, she said: "I come tomorrow, help you shower." And with that she was gone.

As I lay there in bed that night, I wondered how awkward the shower situation would prove to be. I wondered if Mitsuki would stay clothed herself. And the mere thought of her without clothes immediately caused my erection to return. It was as if my sexual desire, which had been supressed and dormant due to the trauma, the hospitalization, and the pain medication, had suddenly roared back to life. But without the use of my hands, there really wasn't anything I could do about it. How long had it been since I last ejaculated, I wondered. Weeks at least. How long would it be until I'd be able to again? At least a month, I thought to myself in frustration.

It turns out I was very wrong.

THE FIRST SHOWER

The next morning, around 10:00, I heard a knock on the door. I yelled "come in" and was glad to see it was Mitsuki who opened the door and not some random person. She was carrying a McDonald's bag with a breakfast sandwich and hash browns, which I was incredibly thankful for and immediately snarfed down with her help.

Then came the awkward part. It was time to shower. My small house was an older house and had a traditional japanese style shower, which consisted of a low hanging shower nozzle with a hose attachment and an old wooden shower stool that you sat on while showering. There was no bathtub or even shower doors. There was just a drain in the middle of the tiled bathroom floor; the entire bathroom became the showering area when the bathroom door was closed.

Mitsuki told me she needed to change first, so she went into my bedroom and closed the door. When she came back out, she was wearing only a very simple cotton slip, almost like a nightgown, but sleeveless and only extending to mid-thigh. It was not particularly revealing or immodest but I could tell it was very thin, and she didn't seem to have anything on underneath it.

She then went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. As it ran, she came over to me and began to help me take off my shirt. Once that was off, she wrapped plastic bags over my bandaged hands and lower arms to keep them dry during the shower and used rubber bands to secure them. She then went straight for my waist and began to pull down my sweatpants. This was the moment of truth, as I was not wearing any underwear. Getting the sweatpants on and off to go to the bathroom had been difficult enough that I had elected to go commando and make life easier on myself. So as soon as she tugged on the sweatpants, they fell to the floor, and I was completely naked. Like the nurse that she was, however, she was completely businesslike and professional. Her eyes didn't linger on anything and seconds later she was leading me into the bathroom and indicating for me to sit on the shower stool. Very efficiently, she washed my hair and soaped up my body, rinsing it off with the hand held nozzle. As she leaned over me to do this, I couldn't help but steal some looks down her slip, catching brief sight of her nipples more than once. The combination of the nudity and the skin-on-skin contact was more than my sex-starved body could tolerate. Within seconds, I had an unmistakable erection, which was mortifying, given that she would definitely notice when she attempted to wash my lower body.

When she eventually reached that point, though, she remained completely professional, saying nothing and betraying no surprise or concern at the sight of my erection. She simply used the loofa to quickly soap up the area around my aching cock and just as quickly rinsed me off. Before I knew it, we were done and she was drying me off with a towel and helping me get dressed.

She came back later that evening to bring me some more food for dinner and help me eat it. I couldn't help but notice that she'd changed her clothes since earlier in the day. In the morning, at least prior to the shower, she had been wearing a loose fitting sweatshirt and jeans. When she came back, she was wearing a tighter fitting blouse that showed off her slender figure and even a little cleavage. Given that she was my only source of human interaction and just happened to be an objectively, extremely attractive woman, I'm sure that my eyes lingered on her body frequently enough for her to notice. But she gave no indication that it made her uncomfortable and, judging by her change of outfit, may even have been welcoming it.

THE RELEASE

The next day Mitsuki returned again in the late morning to help me with showering and getting changed. I had told her the day before that she didn't need to do this every day, that I could go a day or two without showering, but she insisted. This time she again went into my bedroom to change into her cloth slip, but unlike before, she didn't entirely close the bedroom door. Through the crack in the door, I could partially see her disrobing and pulling on the slip. For a brief but unmistakable moment, I caught a glimpse of one of her naked breasts from the side view. Within seconds, I felt flushed and was pitching a tent through my sweatpants.

Moments later, Mitsuki re-emerged from the bedroom and began preparing the shower. I hoped that my erection might subside by the time she came to undress me, but it was not to be. After starting the water, she came back out and first helped me take off my shirt and secure the bags around my arms. Then she asked me to stand. While still crouching in front of me, she leaned forward and pulled down my sweatpants in one swift motion. Almost comically, my erect cock flopped out, smacking into her chest just below her neck. She clearly wasn't expecting this and exclaimed "sugoi!" in Japanese (roughly translated as "wow").

I immediately apologized, mumbling something about how it was just an involuntary reflex (which I doubt she understood anyway), but she didn't seem upset or creeped out, and as soon as she recovered from her initial surprise, her professional demeanor immediately returned; she motioned me into the bathroom where I immediately sat down on the stool, my cock still fully engorged.

She again got on her knees and began to wash my hair, and I again couldn't help but steal glimpses down her slip whenever she leaned forward. For a precious moment, I could even see all the way down the slip, catching a brief glimpse of her neatly trimmed pubic area. Unlike before, I noticed that her eyes were also wandering. Several times I caught her stealing a glance at my still raging erection, which stood nearly straight up as I sat on that small wooden stool.

When she was finished with my hair, she began soaping me down with the loofah, as she had the day before. But when she eventually reached my lower body, she paused, hesitating for a moment as if struggling with a decision. Then she looked me in the eyes and spoke.

"I take care. Okay?" It was a question, but I didn't know what she meant. I just stared blankly back at her, confused. Then she reached down and grabbed my cock firmly in her hand and repeated: "I take care. Okay?"

The shock of her grabbing my aching cock was enormous. It was as if her touch caused an electric current to course through my entire body. I don't remember if I said anything or if I managed to nod or something, but the next thing I remember, she had soaped up the entire area and was using both of her hands to stroke the shaft of my cock.

I felt like a man who had spent days lost in the desert without water and suddenly stumbled upon an ice cold drinking fountain. Her touch was very gentle and unhurried. Her delicate hands slid frictionlessly up and down my cock, with just the slightest amount of pressure. The sensation was pleasurable beyond description, and I knew that I wasn't going to last very long. Sure enough, after what couldn't have been longer than a minute, I felt that desperate release coming.

She could clearly sense my body tensing and just before I reached the tipping point, her eyes again moved up to meet mine. I audibly grunted as I climaxed, and she smiled at me warmly, seemingly proud of her quick work. Only after it was done, and I'd taken a deep calming breath, did I finally look down. When I did, I saw that an absolutely incredible amount of cum (probably more than I've ever ejaculated before or since) was splattered across her right arm and onto various parts of her cotton slip, along the right side of her body.

Without wasting time, she used the shower nozzle to wash the cum off of her arm and then rinse me off. A minute later she was toweling me off, just as she had the day before, and a few minutes later she had me dressed again. She took my old clothes and tossed them in my washing machine. Then, in a moment that will forever be burned into my memory, she took off her cum-soaked slip and threw it into the washer as well. Now fully naked, she turned and nonchalantly walked back to my bedroom to put her clothes back on. She was absolutely stunning, having an incredible body for a 30-something mother of two kids, slender, fit, and curvy all at the same time. Her hips swayed sensuously as she walked softly to the bedroom, but I don't think she was trying to put on a show for me. She just seemed completely comfortable in her nakedness. It was incredibly sexy, especially after the moment of intimacy we'd just shared.

A NEW ROUTINE

I spent most of the next 24 hours thinking obsessively about Mitsuki and that moment we shared in the shower, replaying it over and over again in my mind, wondering if it was just a one-time thing, hoping desperately that it wouldn't be. When she stopped by with dinner later that night -- looking as beautiful as ever in a simple, tight-fitting tee-shirt and her hair pulled back in a ponytail -- she gave no indication that anything had changed between us. It was as if the handjob had never happened. That night I had trouble sleeping, trouble distracting myself, trouble thinking about anything other than my next shower.

The next day Mitsuki showed up at her normal time and everything went according to routine, with one significant exception. When it came time for my shower, Mitsuki didn't change into her slip first. She was still wearing her jeans and button-up shirt when she turned on the hot water and then came over to undress me and wrap my arms. Once I was naked, she motioned for me to take a seat on the stool, which I did obediently. As I sat on the stool, looking out through the bathroom door, I watched as she began unbuttoning her shirt. She disrobed one piece of clothing at a time, draping her clothes gently over the back of my couch. One moment she was in nothing but a simple white bra and panties. The next she was completely naked. And the next she was walking toward me.

As she entered the bathroom, she smiled, no hint of self-consciousness or embarrassment on her face or in her body language. In her broken English, she said: "This is easier; you already see everything." And with that simple explanation, she got to work. The sublime sight of her naked body had an almost instantaneous effect on me. I was once again rigidly erect, and I could tell from her downward glances that she noticed.

Not only was her nudity a visual spectacle, but it changed her whole approach to the showering process. In our prior two showers, she had spent most of the time either in a crouching position or on her knees in front of me, doing her best to avoid the spray of the water. Now that she was naked and didn't mind getting wet, she took full advantage of the shower space, maneuvering around me to find easier positions to wash my hair and scrub my back. As she did so, her bare breasts pressed against me multiple times, driving me wild with desire. Throughout those tantalizing minutes, as my cock strained and yearned for contact, a single question dominated my thoughts: is she going to do it again? Finally, after she had maneuvered herself directly behind me, she leaned forward, standing on her knees and pressing her breasts against my back. She spoke gently in my ear: "I take care again, okay?"