Home Healthcare Worer Is My Angel

Home Healthcare Worker is my Angel

Helping him by bathing him, dressing him, and walking with him with his standalone, upright walker while holding onto his gait belt, Robert, an elderly man loves his black, home healthcare worker, Raven.

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Author's Note:

This true story is about Robert, an elderly man, and his young, black, attractive, home healthcare worker, Raven.

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Before prescription drugs, drugs, and more drugs, before HMO's, preventative medicine, and home healthcare workers, a time when doctors made house calls, my father lived to 90 and his mother lived to 97. Before cancer cures and diabetes remedies, both my grandfathers lived to 86-years-old. Before over the counter pills with supposedly 12-hour, timed relief that doesn't work for more than a few hours, with us all at the mercy of the pharmaceutical companies, we're all doomed.

The fact of the matter is that 'Big Pharma' will never find a cure for cancer, for diabetes, for arthritis, and for any other money-making illness. There's too much money in the endless treatments and medications to find cures for these major illnesses. If they had wanted to find the cures with all the supposed research they've been lying about doing, they would have found the cures by now. The only people who receive the good medical care that we all should have are our elected officials. With doctors even making house calls, our politicians receive the best medical care in the world.

I figure that I have longevity on my side but the older that I get, the less that I can do. After losing much of my muscle mass, and most of my testosterone, it's a real struggle just to take out the trash each week. My mail box is only 100 feet from my front door but sometimes, it feels as if it's a walk of death. While praying that I don't fall, that's a weekly walk that I dread.

Usually, needing something to hold on to, I walk to the mailbox and back with my rollator. Yet, sometimes when I don't have my balance or suddenly become dizzy, even when walking with a rollator, walking without someone holding my gait belt is a recipe for disaster. When my legs are bad and if I'm weak, I'll struggle to get my wheelchair out the front door and use that to wheel myself to the mailbox.

Unfortunately, part of life, the older I get and the weaker that I become. Difficult for me to admit it, but it's apparent to me that I need help. After having fallen too many times to count, I'm lucky that I haven't broken a bone. Never thinking that I needed to hire a home healthcare worker, unfortunately, admitting that I couldn't do many things that I used to do on my own, hired help was a necessity. I needed hire someone to help me make my life easier.

Medicaid will pay for someone to come to my house every day but the ream of paperwork to fill out to apply was daunting to do. The wait to be approved was excruciatingly long. I hired someone to help me do the paperwork. Yet, even after finally filling out all their required forms and being approved by Medicaid, for the agency to find someone for me to hire took more weeks of waiting for someone to call me with a qualified home caregiver.

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Before a healthcare worker was approved, with a prescription from my doctor, I was approved to receive the services of a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, and a nurse to come to my home for an hour each week. The nurse did nothing more than check my vital signs and, with me a diabetic, my blood sugars. My only stipulation was that all three healthcare professionals had to be female. With me having a long history of sexual abuse, I didn't want a man inappropriately sexually touching me.

Something that I assumed that they didn't do, I couldn't believe it when my physical therapist, Linda, volunteered that she'd be happy to give me a massage after I asked her. Instead of stripping myself naked and covering myself with a towel, feeling awkwardly embarrassed, I allowed her to massage me through my clothes. My first time having a massage, and with my muscles so tense, now I look forward to her massaging me again, perhaps, this time without wearing any clothes but for a towel, a small towel, a face cloth.

Then, my occupational therapist, Kathy, informed me that some of the things that she does are to bathe and dress her patients.

'What? Seriously? She bathes and dresses her patients? Wow!'

Then, she said what I hoped she would say. I couldn't believe she said what she said. She said that she'd be happy to give me a bath. With me already having a shower bench that I bought for my wife before she died but that she never used, I readily agreed for my occupational therapist to wash me.

'I can't believe she volunteered to wash my naked body. I can't wait for Kathy to see me naked. I can't wait for her to touch my naked body while washing me,' I thought.

A young, beautiful, woman with natural blonde hair, big blue eyes, and big breasts, and with me old enough to be her grandfather, I couldn't believe that I was going to strip myself naked in front of a twenty-something-year-old. Indeed, daring myself to do so, as if I was a male stripper on stage, I slowly stripped naked in front of her. Seeing me naked meant nothing to her but a lot to me.

Embarrassing myself, immediately, unable to control myself from having one, I had a huge erection. I apologized for being sexually excited but, with her having seen it all before, she laughed while waving a hand of no concern. It took a long time for my erect cock to lose the erection.

Wishing that I could but not wanting to ruin things by rushing things, I wished I could wrap her fingers around her erect prick. I wished that I could put a gentle hand to her shoulder as my subtle sign for her to move to her knees. I wished that I could stick my engorged cock in her beautiful mouth. I wished she'd blow me and allow me to cum in her mouth.

"With a young woman seeing you naked in your bathroom, I'd be surprised if you didn't have an erection," said Kathy with a laugh while looking down at my erection and seemingly admiring it.

Nothing more than a sexual fantasy, with her wearing blue gloves, again, fueling my sexual desire for her, I hoped she'd reach out and touch my erect cock with her blue gloves. I hoped she'd wrap her blue, gloved fingers around my erect prick and stroke me. I'd love for Kathy to masturbate me.

I hoped she'd move to her knees and take me in her mouth and blow me. I'd love to cum in her beautiful mouth. Saving some cum, I'd love to cum all over her face and across her naked breasts. I'd love to give her a cum bath.

I only wished that she'd strip naked with me. I'd love to see her young, beautiful, naked body. I'd love to see her big naked breasts, her pink areolas, and her erect nipples. I'd love to see her blonde, trimmed pussy and her shapely, naked ass. In the way that she was ready to give me a bath, I'd love to give her a bath, too.

Off balance while climbing over the bathtub to sit on the bench, when Kathy grabbed me around my sides to keep me from falling, I turned to face her and unintentionally grabbed two, handfuls of her big breasts.

"Sorry," I said. "With me feeling as if I was going to fall, my involuntary reaction was to reach out and grab something. The only thing in reach was your breasts," I said with a nervous, little, embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry," I said again. "I meant no disrespect."

She laughed.

"That's okay. You're not the first dirty, old man who groped my big breasts," she said with a laugh.

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I had to wait for someone to contact me about a home healthcare giver coming to my home. Yet, unbelievably, before I could even meet and greet someone there was more paperwork to do. The agency representative had to come out to my home, to meet and greet me first, interview me, and to see the surroundings of my house to make sure that my home was safe. Then, I had to sign his paperwork.

Finally, I received a call from a different, home healthcare agency. They had someone in mind and wanted me to make a time to meet and greet her. As I had told all the other agency, I told this agency that I had to have a woman and not a man as a home healthcare giver. I dreaded being washed, dressed, and touched by a man. Yet, true to my horny manhood, I looked forward to being washed, dressed, and touched by a woman.

My wife, Audrey, died several years ago and I missed the companionship of a woman. Not having much to look forward to, other than watching TV, I looked forward to having a woman who'd wash me, dress me, do some light housekeeping, and cook for me. Someone to talk to, laugh with, play a game with, and/or watch TV or a movie, all that was important to me, too.

The first woman that I met was from India. Hard to pronounce, her name was Bhakti, a name that didn't immediately roll off my tongue. She spoke little English and understood even less. Then, when the man from the agency explained to her in her native language that she'd have to see me naked when washing me, overwhelmed with embarrassment and shame, she had a look of horror on her face.

She vehemently shook her head no before getting up from the couch and leaving. Obviously, she wasn't a match. Apparently, she was unaware that part of her duties as a home healthcare worker was washing me.

'Next,' I thought!

It was a week before another agency called me to set up a day and time for a meet and greet another female caregiver. Now, I'm a big man. I'm 6' tall and weigh 210 pounds. I'm no lightweight, especially when compared to the home healthcare worker that they asked me to meet and greet was only 5' tall and 110 pounds. A tiny little thing, seemingly, she was half my size.

Even though I wear a gait belt around the house, I couldn't imagine how she could stop me from falling. Yet, with nothing to do with home healthcare, I was tempted to hire her because she was young and pretty with natural blonde hair, big blue eyes, and big tits. Indeed, if I was looking to date her, first on my short list, she'd be my dream woman.

Then, erasing all doubts of hiring her, when she told me more about herself, I knew that she wasn't the home healthcare worker for me. She had been living in a shelter for abused women. Even though she had a restraining order against her husband, he had been trying to find her. With everyone packing handguns these days, there was no way that I wanted to get in the middle of that marital, legal fiasco. I imagined him pounding on my front door in the middle of the night.

'Christine! Christine! I know you're in there. Open the door. Let me in,' I imagined him yelling. "I promise not to hit you again."

Even though she wasn't living with me, perhaps, he'd suspect that she was. The hours that I needed a woman was from 7 am until 3 pm five days a week. Someone to wash and dress me, get me out of bed, do light housekeeping, vacuuming, and dusting, and making me breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I'd love to have a companion to talk to, laugh with, play a game, watch TV, and watch a movie.

'Next,' I thought!

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The next caregiver from another different agency sent me for a meet and greet was a woman from West Africa. She was as dark as she was strikingly beautiful. With her having a CNA, a certified, nurse's assistant, I was hopeful. Soft spoken and kind, she seemed to be a good candidate to hire. I liked her very much. Unfortunately, my hopes were quickly dashed when she told me that she just had a liver transplant.

'What? Huh? A liver transplant? She couldn't be more than 30-years-old,' I thought. 'Why would she need a liver transplant?'

In the age of medical privacy laws and HIPAA, Health Insurance Portability and Actability Act, I didn't dare ask her why she needed a liver transplant. Yet, with me thinking the worst of possibilities and with AIDs still rampant in Africa, I figured she needed a liver transplant to recover from AIDs. If not, then possibly, she had Hepatitis C, was the reason why she needed a liver transplant. Especially with me in a weakened condition, those were two, deadly diseases that I didn't want in my house. Sorry but she was a no from me.

'Next,' I thought!

The next week, another agency had a possible candidate for me to meet and greet. Her name was Tiffany and, if her name wasn't enough to fuel my horny imagination, in the way that she sexually dressed, she looked like a stripper. My imagination went wild imagining a stripper washing my naked body and dressing me.

'How hot would that be to have a stripper as a home healthcare worker,' I thought? 'Wow!'

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She wore a very short skirt. Unless she crossed her legs or put her hand in front of her skirt opening, no matter how she sat or how she was sitting, she continually flashed me her bright, white panties. Immediately sexually excited, I loved seeing her bright, white panties. Being without female companionship for a few years, I'm not embarrassed or ashamed to write that I enjoyed the view of seeing her panty clad pussy. Trying not to catch me looking, I stared at her pussy mound, her camel toe, and her pussy slit through her sheer, white panties.

'She's making me horny,' I thought.

She made me wish that I could cup her pussy in the palm of my horny hand through her panties. She made me wish that I could finger her pussy through her panties. She made me wish that I could remove her panties and eat her pussy. She made me wish that I could masturbate her while licking her. She made me wish that she'd blow me and allow me to cum in her beautiful mouth while I fondled her big, naked breasts and finger her erect nipples after I made love to her before fucking her again and again.

Completing and complimenting her outfit of wearing a short skirt that continually flashed me her panties, she wore a low-cut top that flashed me her long, sexy line of cleavage. Her top was so low-cut that when she leaned forward to flick ashes in the paper cup that I provided her as an ashtray for her cigarette, I could see her the tops of her dark, pink areolas. If I dared to stand over her while staring down at her, which I did when I gave her paper cup to flick her cigarette asses, I'd had a view of her big, erect nipples down her low-cut bra, too.

Thinking with my cock instead of my brain, I was tempted to hire her until she lit up a cigarette without even asking if she could smoke. I've never smoked and my wife didn't smoke either. I didn't want someone smoking in my house. With a cigarette dangling from her mouth, I imagined her dropping hot cigarette ashes on me. I imagined her accidentally burning me with a cigarette while changing my diaper. Sorry but no thank you.

'Next,' I thought!

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Finally, another new agency had a candidate for me to meet and greet. A tall, beautiful, young, black woman, named Raven. She had the biggest breasts that I've ever seen. At the very least, instead of being a C cup as many women are, she was a D cup if not bigger. A breast man, even though she had a big and shapely ass, I love tits, big tits, and the bigger the better. Trying not to catch me looking, I couldn't stop staring at her big, blouse and bra clad tits while imagining what she looked like topless.

With sexual thoughts running rampant through my horny mind, she made me want to wire my bedroom with secret cameras and invite her to change her clothes whenever she wanted. I imagined videoing her undressing with the feed going to my computer. I'd love to watch this beautiful, sexy, and shapely woman undressing.

I imagined her changing into her home, healthcare uniform. I imagined her slowly unbuttoning and removing her blouse. I imagined her unhooking her bra, removing her bra straps, and removing her big bra to reveal her huge, naked breasts. I imagined her unbuttoning, unzipping, and stepping out of her jeans and then, her panties. I imagined her stripping herself naked. While masturbating myself over the thoughts of seeing her naked breasts, I imagined seeing Raven without her clothes.

Only, there was no reason for her to strip herself naked to change into her uniform. I'd be lucky to record her in her bra and panties. Still, she was one woman that I'd love to see in her bikini panties and her low-cut bra. While imagining what her breasts looked like in her bra, I loved her big, bra clad tits. I couldn't take my eyes off her huge breasts.

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Of course, not even having to think about it, I hired Raven. She was a Godsend. She was my beautiful, big, breasted, black angel.

She had no problem with seeing me naked when washing me. I washed my private parts while she washed the rest of me. She even wiped my ass with hospital, wet wipes.

Fortunately for me, her tits were so huge that every time she moved to lean over me to dress me, she'd rest her big breasts on my back, on my shoulder, on my arm, and/or on my leg. Seemingly, she was unaware that men have breast feelers everywhere on their horny bodies. Then, when she helped me to stand to get in my wheelchair is when I got the best feels of her big breasts.

For me to maintain my balance without falling, I instructed her to put an arm around my back and her other arm around my shoulders. This way, not only was she helping me to stand but also, her breasts were unobstructed and unprotected by her arms, forearms, and hands. They were in reach and free for me to get a good accidental and unintentional but deliberate feel of her huge, bra clad breasts.

As soon as she took hold of me, I moved my hands to each side of her ribs with the bottom of my palms in contact with the sides of her huge, bra clad breasts. She moved with me and walked me backwards to get in my wheelchair. As soon as I slowly lowered myself down in my chair, is when I quickly but subtly moved my hands to the front of her to grab two, handfuls of her big, bra clad tits.

"Oops, sorry," I said. "I suddenly had the sensation of falling. The last thing that I want to do is to fall," I said. "I've fallen enough. I apologize for grabbing your breasts. It was an involuntary reaction," I said while lying. "I'm so embarrassed. I meant no disrespect. Please forgive me."

She laughed and shrugged her shoulders.

"That's okay. It was an accident," she said with another shrug. "I know that you didn't mean anything sexually inappropriate. If I recorded every man who ever groped my big tits, I could write a book," she said with a sexy laugh.

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Again, not reprimanding me and/or slapping my hands away from her gigantic breasts, every day, while ever so slowly and ever so carefully lowering myself to sit in my wheelchair, I felt her gigantic breasts for a few seconds longer. Every day, while inappropriately, sexually groping her, she allowed me to have my wicked, sexual way with her huge breasts for a few seconds more. Every day, after she left for the day, I masturbated over imagining seeing her big, naked tits, touching her big, naked tits, feeling her big, naked tits, fondling her big, naked tits, and sucking her big, erect nipples.

I only wished that I could see touch her gigantic, naked tits. I only wished that I could feel her huge, naked breasts. I only wished that I could fondle her big, naked tits while pulling, turning, twisting, and sucking her erect nipples. After cumming in her mouth, I only wished that I could cum all over her naked tits while giving her a cum bath.

Then, I finally asked her the question that was on my mind from the first time that I met her. I wanted to know what cup size bra she took. Having felt double D cup breasts before, her bra clad tits felt much bigger and much firmer than a double D cup. Pretending that I didn't realize that she had huge breasts, I feigned my ignorance and acted surprised by the immense size of her huge tits.

"Jesus, Raven, I just realized that you have huge breasts. I apologize for accidentally touching them but when I'm trying to sit in my wheelchair while trying not to fall, I always involuntarily reach out for something to hold on to and to grab. Unfortunately, your huge breasts are always within my reach," I said with a little, feigned, embarrassed laugh.