Edited by Ante_Matter
While it was true that the pretty young thing I had been dating broke up with me, the apex of our brief relationship had long past and I was happy to have my freedom. I used the breakup as an excuse to move to Austin. I wanted to see more of the world, to meet interesting people that could talk about more than how hard they partied, and to date a woman that I hadn't known since I was five. I should have gone to college when I had the chance, but leaving town when I did was the next best thing.
I arrived in the city before lunch and set out to find a place to live. Rooms were more expensive than I expected, so I studied the classifieds until I identified three candidates. Two were run of the mill low-rent room ads. The third was free room and board in exchange for live-in care of an invalid. The appointments for the low rent rooms were in the evening. The appointment for the live in care was in 15 minutes. Free room and board was not essential and I didn't have any intention of looking after an invalid, but I didn't have anything else to do so I kept the appointment.
I rang the bell and was buzzed in, which struck me as odd for a residence. I followed the instructions I had received to the bedroom at the front of the house where Ms. Holloway lay in her hospital style bed. We exchanged introductions and she bid me to sit down in a wicker straight back chair. On the other side of the bed was a large contraption with a sling, which I assumed was for lifting her from the bed.
She introduced herself as Dr. Holloway, while I was intrigued by the fact that she was a doctor, she sounded a bit pretentious. She told me that she had muscular dystrophy, and that the long term prognoses was poor. She claimed that she was an active professor and a prolific researcher in psychology and psychiatry, but I didn't see how that was possible given her poor physical condition. She finished by saying, "If you were to go to the appropriate library you would find countless references to my work. It is very important that my work continue despite my affliction."
She seemed sincere enough, though I assumed that she was like my friends back home who blow their own horn a little bit too hard. I tried to respond with the appropriate amount of awe and respect as she detailed her accomplishments. Then she asked me to tell her about myself.
I had decided that I didn't want to live with this haughty woman, so I told her about the breakup and that I planned to sow some wild oats. I figured that a guy looking to get laid was probably not the caregiver she was after.
"You're still young, there had to be many pretty girls where you're from. Why not chase the local girls? Were you running from something?" She smiled in a way that made me think she knew more about my relationships with women than I did. It was like she had already spotted the gap in my armor that all women eventually found.
"I don't think so," I said. She had countered my little maneuver and made me feel exposed. I made up my mind to look for a polite exit.
She gave me some instructions about the house and what she needed from me. It was a long list of responsibilities that added up to full time care. Compensation was room, board and a daily wage that seemed like a lot until it was divided by the number of hours I would actually be working. My room would have been next to hers. It was slightly bigger than the single bed and chest of drawers which it held.
I asked what had happened to the previous care giver.
"She gave me a week's notice and then called in sick once the ad hit the paper."
"That's not good," I said. Rather than let it drop, I took the opportunity to get a dig in at this mighty professor. "That doesn't reflect well on either of you." With that I had set my plan for a polite exit into motion.
"You are right. I can be demanding and hard to get along with."
She regarded me and continued, "Would you please consider this. Tonight is a banquet in my honor, and as you know, I can't go on my own. I need an assistant, who can treat me with respect, to be my attendant for the evening. I want to appear like I have everything under control, so I don't want to have to call a colleague or press a friend into service. I want you to escort me."
"You will need to prepare me, drive me to the event, stay with me for the evening, bring me home and put me to bed. For that service I will pay you well. You will also get a nice meal and a place to stay the night and you will get to talk to a group of very interesting people."
She paused to let it sink in. Her expression was very serious. She looked me directly in the eye, held my gaze and said, "Will you do this for me?"
Did she know that I was always the one that friends called when they needed help moving? That I was the one that gave up the window seat on the airplane so that kids could sit with their parents? Was I that transparent? Though I was incapable of refusing to help, I promised myself that I would be gone the next morning.
She immediately sent me off to get a tux and pick up some toiletries. When I returned I gave her a bath. As I removed her clothes I was surprised by her body, which was not as wasted as I had thought it would be. For someone who had spent years in bed she wasn't half bad.
"I can barely move, but I can feel everything, so please be gentle."
I did the best I could, but I had no idea what I was doing or how the sling contraption worked. She tried to talk me through, but her naked body combined with everything else made it very awkward. Finally, she was in the sling and I was ready to push her to the bath when she stopped me.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but it would be easier if you removed my tampon."
Up until this point I had been focused on my own embarrassment, but her situation was much worse than mine. So, I smiled and said, "Of course, no problem." I spread her legs and carefully looked for the string. For a few moments I focused on making her more comfortable, but when I looked back at her face I got the impression that she was enjoying making me uncomfortable.
I finally got her in the tub and began to wash her.
"Please, be more gentle."
I began to use a sponge instead of my hands when said, "Stop and look at me."
I obeyed. She grabbed my gaze with hers.
"It has been more than eight years since a man has touched my body. I need you to caress me like you would a the wing of a butterfly. I don't need to be scrubbed, or sponged or, or anything. Just be gentle. Do you think you can handle that?"
"Yes, mam."
"No, no, no. That is no good. You call me Dr. Holloway."
"Yes, Dr. Holloway."
I started by washing her shoulders. Carefully washed down her arms, her palms and through to each finger tip. I washed around her neck and worked my way down her chest to her breasts. I soaped up my hand, cupped her right breast and ever so gently massaged it. She closed her eyes as my hand lingered. I repeated the process with her left breast. Her eyes were closed the entire time. I held her forward and reached behind to get her back, I washed her stomach and then each leg down to the toes, gently massaging her feet as I passed.
"You have to wash all of me, you know."
"Yes, Dr. Holloway."
I slowly ran my hand up the inside of her thigh to her bushy groin. I lathered up my hands and slowly worked the suds into her pubic hair.
"That was very good. Please get me out."
"Yes, Dr. Holloway."
It the next two hours I dried her off, clipped her nails and applied polish, combed her hair, put on her makeup and got her dressed. As I was putting on her dress her foot brushed against my crotch.
"Is your cock still hard from the bath?" She posed the question like she wanted to know why I hadn't taken out the trash. There was no embarrassment or coyness in her voice at all.
