Alien stun gun liberates women of their clothes on Nude Day.
Now that I'm imprisoned here, abducted by aliens, I realize how much my last job ruined my life. I wish I knew then what I know now. Had I known all the negative experiences I'd have from that one job I had in my past would continue throughout my future and subsequently ruin my life in the present, even after leaving that job so many months ago, I never would have taken that job, and I never would have met Martin. I'd be living my normal life on Earth, instead of rocketing through space at warp speed going to who knows where.
An educated man with a good career and a bright future, I was a revered assistant professor at the university, before I found myself being abducted by aliens. Yeah, that's right, aliens. They singled me out because I had their stolen phaser. That's a long story and what this story is about. I know, it sounds crazy but it's true. I'm just as surprised by the whole experience of alien abduction, as I am surprised that my captors allowed me access to the Internet to post this true story.
In all started when I took a job at a nursing home. Back then, to afford my education, while attending graduate school and earning my advanced degrees, I worked in a nursing home caring for the elderly and the infirmed. Better than flipping burgers at McDonalds or waiting tables at a local restaurant, this nursing home job paid better than most. With many of the residents sleeping or watching television, the job afforded me the time that I needed to do my studies, and I got to meet a lot of nice and interesting people. That's where I met Martin.
People think that just because you're old, you cease to exist and no longer function. From having worked at the nursing home, I can testify that we can learn much from our elderly. They are our real national treasure. Been there, done that, their practical advice and down to Earth wisdom, even though they experienced their life lessons fifty and sixty years ago are still applicable to what is happening in the world today.
Martin was an elderly man that I befriended. Maybe I liked him because no one else did. Whatever that says about him with no one liking him, it says as much about me with my liking someone that no one else likes? The fact that no one liked him should have told me something right there, but what did I know? I was young and naive. A scholar with my head in the clouds, when it wasn't stuck up my ass, I didn't know any better. An optimist, I thought everyone was good and I liked everybody. Besides, I was just doing my job in caring for him.
The thing that stuck out in my mind though is that no one ever visited him, not his wife, his daughters, his sisters, his nieces, his female cousins, or his female friends. I thought that was more than a little weird, especially after I discovered that he had a wife, daughters, sisters, nieces, female cousins, and female friends. He told me he did and over the months that I cared for him, he shared his memories of them all with me. I mention only females, as visitors, because more than 90% of all visitors to a nursing home are female.
More caring, sensitive, and nurturing, women routinely visit their loved ones, while the men sit at home watching sports and drinking beer. It always struck me as odd that no one came to see him. Surely, the man had one woman, who cared enough about him to visit him on Christmas or on his birthday, but no one ever came to see him, not a woman or a man for that matter.
It was so sad to see him sitting there alone in his room week after week on a Sunday, when all the other residents were out and about walking the grounds, while visiting with their families and friends. Most times he just slept the remainder of his life away or watched TV. A prisoner in his own room, I felt sorry for him, enough to spend part of my day off with him talking to him and laughing with him. I used to wheel him around the grounds in his wheelchair.
No one else cared enough about him to spend their free time talking to him and learning more about him, as I did. Maybe because both my grandfathers died, when I was too young to remember them, I quickly discovered that this man had lived an interesting life. He had grown up on a farm in the mid west, where he worked as a ranch hand. He showed me photos of him with his horse, Daisy, his dog, a Daschund, he named Jimmy Dean, and his wife, Carolyn. After spending time in France, he survived World War II, came home and had two daughters, Sandra and Jenny.
Yet, I found it disturbing that no one brought him homemade cookies. No one sent him a funny card. His daughters didn't even remember him on Father's Day. How sad is that? No one called to talk to him on the phone. He was the only resident, who was so alone and so ignored. How could I, as his full-time caretaker, just abandon him on my one lousy day off?
Even those other totally infirmed residents, who were senile with Alzheimer's disease or dementia, had regular visitors. There was always someone, who cared enough about them, to pay them their respects with a visit, a card, and/or a telephone call. Even if the senile and Alzheimer residents didn't know, who their visitors were and why they were there visiting them, someone was always there for them.
Moreover, those residents with special physical and mental disabilities were given extra care by the staff, but not Martin. Even though Martin was now bedridden and too weak to get up and walk around, even to go to the bathroom alone, he was ostracized by staff and residents alike. It seemed that no one liked and cared about him.
What comes around goes around. Maybe, I figured, by giving him the courtesy of my time, when I'm his age, some kind soul will take pity on me and spend time with me by visiting me, should I find myself in a nursing home, one day. Yet, the same sad fate that befell Martin in a nursing home, befell me later in life. Because here I am trapped on a space ship to where, I have no idea. I'm alone with aliens, who look at me, as if I'm the alien. Well, okay, I guess I am an alien to them.
Truly what comes around did come around and it came around to me, all because I befriended Martin. That's not fair. I thought I was doing a good thing by helping an old man. Certainly, if I knew this would happen to me, I never would have accepted the job as his full-time caretaker.
It should have occurred to me, when even the administrator, the secretary, the accounting assistant, the other orderlies, the nurses, the dietician, the physical therapist, and the doctor in charge, all females, I might add, took an immense disliking to him. Their dislike for him wasn't at all random, I discovered later; it was personal. As if he had offended them somehow, the women in the nursing home riled against him, in the way that only women can when banding together. Only, no one would talk about what he did to garner such hatred.
What did he do to them? The fact that they were all females was telling. It had to be something sexual, but what?
I figured, by their silence that they were as deeply offended by what he did to them, as they were embarrassed by something that he had done to them. Perhaps, what he did to them is what he did to others outside the nursing home, which would explain why no one came to visit him. Only, I had no idea what it was he did for the staff to hate him enough not to do their jobs in caring for him and for the other women in his life not to visit him.
I was more than curious why the nursing home staff had nothing to do with him. When I asked him why no one liked him, when I asked him why no one came to visit him, and when I asked him why even the nursing home staff didn't give him the adequate round the clock care that he so deserved and was entitled to receive as a resident here, he just shrugged and changed the subject. When I asked some of the women on staff why they didn't like Martin, when I asked the female staff members why they weren't doing their job by caring for him, they all exhibited the same behavior; they'd just shrug and change the subject. Martin was a mystery that weighed heavily on my mind.
Believing the obvious, I figured he flashed them all his cock. Patients were always flashing themselves to the nursing home staff, especially the men. Yet, that was no big deal, especially in the confines of a nursing home. It made no sense for the entire female staff of the nursing home to ostracize him from their round the clock resident healthcare routine and other regular duties, unless he did something more than that, but how could he?
If he wasn't so bedridden, if he was such a problem, they could have tethered him to the bed. All they had to do to avoid his grasp was to take a step away from his bed. He was too weak to force anyone to do anything. I was at a loss to explain why they refused to care for this one resident.
Certainly, the women who worked there, wouldn't hate him and not want to care for him, if all he did was to flash them his penis. In working here, they'd seen that many times before on a daily basis, I'm afraid. It had to be something else, but what? Mrs. Franchette, as if still in New Orleans and celebrating Mardi Gras, was always flashing me her big, saggy breasts. Knowing that she'll flash them her tits and ignoring that when she does, the staff still cares for her, as they do any other resident.
No doubt, taking the opportunity to still feel attractive that someone, especially someone much younger, still wants these elderly and confined residents, flashing goes with the job. Maybe it's their way to get attention and to be noticed but, after a while, we're all immune to it and none of us pay it any mind. I feel sorry for the nursing home residents, who feel they must flash their body parts to be noticed. It's sad to feel so ignored that you must resort to flashing to be noticed. I hope my life never comes to that.
It wasn't until I overheard bits and pieces of whispered conversation that I discovered that the women, who worked at the nursing home, accused Martin of mind control. They accused him of hypnotizing them and making them do things against their wills. How in the Hell could this feeble, old man hypnotize anyone? Then, I wondered, if he does possess the power to hypnotize someone, what things did Martin make them all do for them all to be so pissed at him?
Did he make them strip naked? Did he touch their naked bodies? Did he make them blow him? How could a feeble and bedridden, old man do something as vile and perverted, albeit as exciting and as erotic as that to so many woman?
What else could it have been? What else could he have done for them all to hate him so much? It must have been something really bad and truly nasty for him to get such a unified reaction from so many women.
