During the summer holidays I got a part-time job at a local care home as an assistant, a helper of sorts. I did the unskilled but rewarding tasks, like helping the elderly residents get from A to B around the complex, taking them for walks around the gardens, and giving them their pre-arranged medicine, things like that.
I loved every minute of it and the pay was decent, but what I enjoyed the most was helping people who were coming to the end of their long lives. It wasn't a hospice, but still, these residents were anywhere from seventy to ninety-five.
I loved them all, but I had two particular favourites. Ethel and Harry.
Ethel was eighty-one years old. Small and frail, but as wise as an owl with perfectly groomed silver hair. She was mother of four, a grandmother of seven, and a great grandmother of three.
I loved sitting with Ethel and listening to the stories from her youth. She was married for fifty-five years but sadly lost her husband five years ago, which left her unable to cope alone, so she ended up in the care home.
What I loved most about Ethel was her cheekiness. We'd go for a stroll in the big gardens in her wheelchair before she'd ask me for a cigarette. "My treat, dear," she'd grin. Then we'd sit together in the sunshine smoking a Marlboro menthol cigarette before it was time to go back in.
Harry on the other hand was a different kind of likeable. He was also cheeky, but in the most inappropriate of ways, especially when the senior management weren't around. Seventy-four going on twenty-one, Harry was a tall, skinny, cunning as a fox kind of a guy, who was constantly joking with the staff and other residents.
"Never married and I don't have any kids that I know of, Pippa," he said to me one night, after giving him his medicine. "But with all the pussy I've spunked in over the years, I'm sure I have a few of the fuckers out there somewhere," he then gave me a dirty chuckle.
I'd been warned about Harry when I started assisting him. I was also told to take no crap from him and report any inappropriate behaviour. But I took his foul mouth in good spirits, and his innuendos, until one day he told me I had a "fantastic pair of tits".
I told him to behave and carried on with my duties. But then it escalated to him cheekily asking if he could "see my big tits". I laughed and started calling him 'Dirty Harry'.
As the weeks passed it escalated to Harry offering to show me his 'big cock'. He always said it in such a humorous way that I found it difficult to be offended. He was worse than the boys at school. I would remind him that I was only eighteen years old, but that only made him groan like a man experiencing an orgasm. Once when I reminded him of my age, I actually thought he was going to shoot his load.
Harry was harmless though; I didn't fear him and he didn't touch me. He did, however, continue to offer me the chance to see his big cock. I guess he knew I wasn't the type to report him.
One Friday morning in late August, I was pushing Ethel around the gardens. I only had two weeks left, and we were both sad about my imminent departure. But I promised to visit on weekends.
"If my old age doesn't kill me soon then this bloody damn heatwave will," Ethel moaned, wiping a handkerchief across her sweaty brow.
"Just stay indoors this afternoon, Ethel. Drink plenty of water and you'll be fine," I reassured her.
"How's that dirty bastard treating you, Pippa?" she asked.
"Who? Harry?"
"Who else, dear?"
He's still offering to show me his cock," I sighed. "He's harmless though."
"You should teach him a lesson and call his bluff," Ethel coughed.
"I don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't show me, Ethel. I don't want to encourage him."
"No, but when he gets that wrinkly old thing out you can laugh at him. Put him in his place. Why on earth would he think a beautiful young woman like yourself would want to see that disgusting old thing?"
"I think it's for his amusement, not mine," I reasoned.
"Call his bluff, dear. Tell him how disgustingly old and wrinkly it is."
Ethel and I laughed before I joked that she was more keen for me to see it than Harry was. But the old lady had a point. I didn't want to hurt Harry, but I did have a few put downs in the armoury to shut him down.
I eventually wheeled Ethel back inside and went to play a card game with some of the other residents in the common room. Due to the heatwave, I was only wearing a matching black bra and panty set underneath my uniform, but the scrubs were fixed so no cleavage was on show.
At lunchtime I helped hand out the meals, and that's when I saw Harry for the first time that day. Harry, like all the residents, was complaining about how hot and uncomfortable he was.
"Ain't you roasting in that uniform, Pippa?" he asked, taking his packet of cheese sandwiches, sitting in front of his fan.
"Not really," I replied nonchalantly, placing a cold jug of water and a glass of ice down on his table. "I'm only wearing bra and panties." I spontaneously teased him. My own little fun version of payback.
"Cooooor! Really?" he gasped excitedly. "I bet they're a sexy black?" he suggested.
"Good guess," I giggled, then left the room.
Ten minutes later a call for assistance rang on the office board. It was Harry.
"Are you ok, Harry?" I asked. "Is everything alright?"
"Make an old man happy, Pippa, will you love?" he smiled, brushing the crumbs off his chest and lap.
"Depends what you want," I replied, hands on hips.
"Any chance I can see whats underneath those scrubs?" he asked with a wink and a cheeky grin.
I laughed and shook my head. "Don't ring for assistance, Harry, unless you really need something."
"But I really do really need to see your sexy underwear. I can't stop thinking about it. Now I know that's all your wearing underneath your uniform."
"Drink some water, Harry. It'll help cool you down." I left to the sound of 'Dirty Harry' chuckling too himself.
Ten minutes later the call for assistance rang again, and again, and again. Lucky for Harry I was the only one in the office and corridors close by. If my manager caught wind of him needlessly ringing the buzzer every ten minutes he would have been on the end of a right telling off.
"Come on, Pippa, just one flash," he pleaded like a child begging its mother for a treat before dinner.
"No!" I laughed. "Behave yourself!"
"I'll show you my cock?" he offered.
"Why would I want to see your cock, Harry?" I raised my eyebrows at him.
"It's big," he grinned. "Show me your big tits and I'll show you my big cock?"
"Harry!"
"Alright," he waved his hand at me. "How about I just show you my cock then, see what you think?"
"Don't make me report you," I threatened him.
"Ok, ok, but the offer stands if you ever change your mind," he smirked.
"You're relentless," I smiled.
The rest of the afternoon and early evening I was giggling too myself. I also felt a little bit bad for threatening to report Harry. I knew I was having a positive effect on him. Too positive perhaps.
Doing my final rounds that evening, before going home, Harry's door was unusually closed when I went to deliver his medication. I thought he might be chatting with one of the other residents, so I knocked and waited outside with my ear against the door. When I didn't hear a voice telling me I could enter, my immediate reaction was concern. I opened the door and walked straight in.
