My son and daughter have decided it's time for me to get looked after in a Care Home. Apparently I'm not eating regularly. I keep forgetting things, like leaving the stove on, which could burn the house down. I also keep the central heating turned off in winter to save money and apparently I talk to myself and repeat questions every 5 minutes when making conversation. They said;
"You are not looking after yourself properly. Not washing your clothes often enough, not getting a regular hair cut, not cooking proper meals, not getting to the toilet in time causing small leakages and bad smells on the stairs" and so on...
I didn't want to leave my home because I have lived there for many years watching my kids grow up, spent my retirement years with my wife before she passed away and it would be the end of my independence. But the kids pulled some legal manoeuvre about right of attorney or something so they could get me moved for my own good.
I visited a few Care Homes in my local area to check them out. The best one in my opinion was called Kerridge House. You got your own room with an en-suite bathroom and seating area for watching TV. Plus all meals were provided, medication was brought by medical staff and carers helped with daily tasks, like getting washed, getting dressed, trips to the shops, cleaning your room, undressing and going to bed. It also had a few large common rooms, dining rooms, a hall for evening entertainment, day trips as well as clubs for chess, whist and gin rum etc.
I was provided with quite a small room with a single bed when I moved in, but I was told when bigger rooms become available I could move in to one. But over time I got familiar with the room and felt it was cosy. Did I want someone's room who had checked out to visit Heaven? Not really.
I was made welcome by the other residents who were mainly widowed and elderly women. There were only two other guys living in the home so I became quite popular amongst the ladies quite quickly. One of the guys had moved into the home with his wife. Although most of the female residents had mostly exceeded their sell by dates two had managed to keep their looks and minds together and I liked chatting to them. The guy who moved in with his wife had a hoist apparently which the carers could use to raise him up over his wife. If they helped insert his cock was never mentioned but with the hoist the couple could make love despite being both 78 years old.
The staff were also very friendly. The nurses and health care assistants tended to be a bit aloof, women in uniforms, married, in their late thirty or early forty years old and very professional. The Carers were much younger usually in their twenties, and seemed to be a bit at odds with themselves. Some were half asleep as they did 2 jobs, others were on their X-Box all night, some were overweight or unhealthy, not good looking, not very bright, immigrants who spoke little English or single parents. Which made me think most Carers are doing that job as they didn't have many other options. There was a high turnover of Carers. I don't think many people can cope with wiping other people's bottoms or changing adult's nappies. I mean who wants to wipe an elderly persons bum hole for minimum wage?
After a week or so I got into the daily routine at the Home. Getting up and washed, medication brought to me, help getting dressed and then down stairs for breakfast. Back to my room for a bit of daytime TV watching Molly Hilloughby while feeling my cock with my hand in my trouser pocket to keep it working and then a little doze. Then back for lunch downstairs around 1pm. Afterwards a few games of cards, or trips to the shops, or garden centres, cafés or day centres.
Cleaners tended to visit our rooms daily in the afternoon. Sometimes just one girl came round, other days three would blitz my room so it was spotlessly clean. I tried to be in my room when the cleaners came round as one had a fantastic pair of boobs while the other two had great asses.
The cleaners unlike the carers, enjoyed their work, they were close friends with each other and they had all been in their jobs for more than ten years each. They bent over, stretched and reached over me to do their job. I got a eye full every day. What's more is that they knew what they were doing and smiled as they stuck their boobs in my face as they reached up to clean my book shelf or wiggled their tight bottoms at me as they bent over to empty the small bins in my room while looking at me over their shoulders with a seductive smile.
"Flirting Deluxe" I called it all.
Yes, as you have guessed regular sleep, food, conversation, flirting deluxe and medication had greatly improved my health both physically and mentally, to the point where I was back taking great interest in the women who regularly attended to me and my needs. I had been closed off to the opposite sex since Margaret had passed away and my mind had got fuzzy by being all alone. I found I was hoping to get my knob back into use because it had been at least 5 years since it had last had female contact.
Margaret had been my wife and life partner. We were childhood sweethearts and were married for just on 50 years. I was now 75 years old. Margaret had been gone 5 years, she told me; when she knew she was not going to get over Pneumonia,
"To live your life, don't live alone and if you meet another woman go for it and don't be a recluse."
It had taken me a long time but now in the security of Kerridge Home, I felt able to restart living again. I was reasonably fit even though I couldn't bend to put my own socks, trousers or shoes on. My balance could go AWOL at any time. So I had a walking stick just in case my balance went, I could walk around without the stick, but that was taking a chance of course, if I needed to.
Melanie or Mel as she preferred was my main Carer. She helped me get dressed and up out of bed most mornings. She lived at home with her Mum. Her Dad had left years ago. She was a pretty bright young thing, was 22 years old, had a pert medium chest, was very thin, long legs but no ass to mention plus I often did not have a clue what she was talking about, because I was so out of touch with the modern world.
Mel never stopped talking unless Herbert made an appearance. Margaret, my wife had called my tool Herbert since we got married. I don't know why but the name had stuck. Often when out dancing or at parties Margaret would casually ask me in front of family and friends;
"What does Herbert think about Helen 's dress?" Or "Has Herbert seen Aunt Agatha's see through blouse and bra?" Margaret and I used to laugh about Herbert a lot.
One day in the Care Home, Herbert fell out of the fly of my pyjamma pants, while Mel was getting my clothes together to get dressed. She took one look at Herb' and said;
"My God the size of that?"
