Caring For Carrie

ALL CHARACTERS ARE AT LEAST 18 YEARS OF AGE OR OLDER.

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Carrie hadn't been drinking the night of the accident. Neither had the Uber driver bringing her home from the Prom after party. It was simply bad luck, a random accident.

But it left my daughter with two broken arms and multiple fractures in both legs.

I was just grateful it hadn't been worse. Carrie was a bright, beautiful young woman with a promising future ahead of her. And while she had several long weeks of recovery ahead of her, there would fortunately be no permanent damage.

Still, it was sad that instead of enjoying her summer with her friends before heading off to college in the fall, she'd be spending most of it cooped up at home, recovering.

Since I owned my own accounting business, I worked from home, so at least I could be there for her to help.

It wasn't going to be easy. Carrie had become a very self sufficient young woman, especially after her mom died. She'd quickly learned to cook and help clean up around the house, and had been a huge help in guiding me through my grief despite her own sadness and loss.

Now it was my turn to be there for her.

Our health insurance was good enough to cover most of what we'd need, and I had enough to cover the rest.

We weren't rich, and our house was small, but we lived comfortably. Everything was on one level, so we wouldn't have to worry about stairs, and I could get her wheelchair in the house through the garage entrance.

While Carrie was still in the hospital, I'd made arrangements to rent a medical bed and had it set up in her bedroom, storing her regular bed in the garage for the time being. This would at least make it easier for her to sit up and generally rest more comfortably.

I'd considered hiring a full time nurse, but the expense was pretty steep and Carrie wouldn't hear of it. "It's too much, dad. I'll manage okay, and I know we can handle this on our own, together, like we always have."

So I brought her home, set her up in her room, and made sure she'd have everything she needed.

The first real obstacle we ran into was having to take her bedroom door off the hinges to get the wheelchair into her room.

Getting her into the bed was easier. Carrie had inherited her mother's petite frame, and I could easily handle her weight as I carefully helped lift her out of the chair.

She was still wearing the oversized nightgown I'd brought for her to wear in the hospital. The open sleeves fit easily over her casts, and it buttoned down the front so we didn't have to pull it over her head. The sweat shorts I'd also brought were a bit more of a struggle to get on from what Carrie told me, (the nurses had dressed her at the hospital) but still hung loosely on her hips. As I helped guide her into the bed, they started to slip down, and it was only then I realized, with some embarrassment, that she wasn't wearing panties.

Once we finally got her settled in and the bed set to a comfortable height, I helped adjust the shorts to a more modest position then covered her with a light blanket.

"Thanks, dad," Carrie said, her voice almost a whisper. The ordeal of getting her home and settled had left her exhausted. "I guess this is gonna be a tougher adjustment than I thought."

I kissed her forehead softly. "It's okay, kiddo. We'll get through this, you'll see."

I gave her her medications, kissed her again, then left her to rest. "I'll be right down the hall," I told her. "If you need anything, just call for me." I'd also purchased a baby monitor set and had one set up by her bedside. The other I'd keep with me, so I could hear her from anywhere in the house.

Carrie smiled and nodded weakly, already drifting off to sleep.

I exited quietly and went off to my own room, collapsing in a tired heap on my own bed.

The next few weeks were going to be stressful, and I was just hoping I'd be strong enough to get through them. I had to be, for my daughter's sake.

I awoke a few hours later to Carrie's voice over the monitor. "Dad? Can you come here, please?"

We'd left the door off of her bedroom, but I still knocked on the wall before entering, a habit I'd adhered to ever since her adolescence.

Even in the now dim light of evening, Carrie's face looked flush. "What's wrong, kiddo?" I asked as I turned on the light.

"I...I need to pee," she stammered.

I knew this was coming of course, and thought I'd mentally prepared myself for it. Still, I felt a bit tense. But I had to remain calm and steady for her.

"Okay, no problem." I adjusted her bed to a more upright position, then reached for the bed pan. I was about to slip it under the blanket when she stopped me. "Um, Dad, you need to get my shorts off first."

"Oh. Right. Of course," I said, hoping I sounded more relaxed and casual than I felt.

Leaving the blanket over her to protect her modesty, I reached under and cautiously pulled down the shorts. It took me several moments to work them off over the casts, and I had to pause twice to readjust the blanket that kept trying to slip off her.

Once removed, I slid the bedpan under the blanket, then helped lift her by the hips over it, trying my best not to jostle her still hurting arms or legs too much in the process.

Finally getting her into a somewhat stable position, I pulled back and stood silently, not sure what to do next.

"Um, Dad? I can't go with you standing there watching," said Carrie.

"What? Oh, of course, sorry." I stepped out of the room quickly and waited in the hallway.

She called me back in a few minutes later, her face beet red as I entered.

Again I carefully lifted her off the bedpan and removed it carefully, trying not to spill it's contents.

I was about to take it to the bathroom to empty it when she again stopped me. "Dad? Um...God, this is embarrassing, but...you need to...wipe me."

"Right. Sorry, kiddo, it's been a long time since I've had to do this." Putting down the pan, I opened the pack of flushable wipes I'd purchased for just this purpose.

Carrie looked close to tears as I started to reach under the blanket. "Hey, relax," I said, trying to sound lighthearted despite my own nerves at this embarrassing situation, "I used to change your diapers, remember? This isn't all that different."

Carrie let out a half laugh, half cry. "It's a LOT different, dad. I'm nineteen now. My dad shouldn't have to be wiping me."

"It's only weird if we make it weird," I assured her. "Just don't think about it."

With that I reached under with the wipe. My heart raced as my hand neared her vagina. Despite my own words, it was impossible NOT to think about the feel of her most intimate area under my fingers as I gently rubbed it with the wipe, or how I could feel her pubic hairs against my palm as my hand moved over her. Nor could I ignore how my finger slipped and brushed between the soft petals of her labia to graze the entrance to her vagina.

I chalked up the little gasp Carrie let out to surprise and embarrassment, nothing more.

I finished as quickly as I could then pulled my hand away. "See? Not so terrible now, was it?"

As I reached for her shorts, Carrie stopped me. "Don't bother. I'm actually more comfortable with them off."

Carrie wouldn't meet my eyes, so I decided to make my exit.

"Dad?" Carrie called after me.

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she said. "Guess I'm just gonna have to get used to this."

"Not a problem," I smiled reassuringly. "We both will. But I'm your dad. It's my job to take care of you."

I emptied the contents of the bed pan in the bathroom, and was about to wash my hands when I felt an itch on my nose. I scratched instinctively. There was a distinct scent on my fingers I hadn't smelled in a very long time.

I inhaled the feminine fragrance deeply, then caught myself. This was my DAUGHTER'S scent. I shouldn't be enjoying it.

I shook my head in disgust at my behavior and quickly washed my hands.

After fixing dinner, which I had to help Carrie eat, we sat and watched a little TV together in her room until she again felt sleepy.

Carrie fell asleep relatively early. I, however, remained awake for several hours after. Physically, I was exhausted, but my mind wouldn't let me sleep. My thoughts mixed and jumbled together as I worried about how I'd manage to help Carrie through the weeks and months ahead, and just how difficult, and potentially embarrassing, it would be for both of us.

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We got into a routine pretty quickly over the next few days. Since I was able to set my own work hours, we'd start our day with breakfast, then give her the painkillers. By the time she had to relieve herself, she was usually in a happy, buzzed state, which made the cleaning up process at least less humiliating for her, if still slightly awkward for me.

I simply tried not to think about it as I did it, and always left the blanket over her when I wiped her privates.

If she wasn't feeling sleepy, I'd sit her up so she could watch TV while I worked for a few hours. Then lunch, then back to work until dinner. After work, I'd spend time with her either watching a movie or simply talking.

Carrie slept a lot the first few days, so caring for her wasn't that much of a chore, really.

By the third day, she was feeling better and was less tired and achy. Unfortunately, she was already getting a little stir crazy. Carrie was always very active before the accident, and practiced yoga on a daily basis. Her boredom and frustration at being stuck in bed was evident, although she did her best not to take it out on me.

Carrie's best friend Lizzy came over late that afternoon to spend time with her while I worked.

I was in my office when there was a soft knock. "Mr. Wilson? Can I come in?"

"Sure, Lizzy, I'm just finishing work. What's up?"

Lizzy offered me a bright but concerned smile. "I gotta head home. I helped Carrie go to the bathroom, and I also cleaned up her room a bit for you."

"Thank you, Lizzy, I truly appreciate your help," I said gratefully.

"Before I go..." She paused for a moment, looking slightly embarrassed, then continued, "Carrie is smelling a bit...ripe. She really needs a bath. I'd do it, but I have to get home. I'm sorry. I'll try to come over to help more often, I promise."

"Don't be sorry, Lizzy, I really appreciate you being here for her. I'll take care of it. Thanks for bringing it to my attention."

Once Lizzy left, I sat in my chair for a few minutes, debating on how to handle this. I suppose I should have thought of it sooner.

I decided the only thing to do was simply do it. Getting up, I went to Carrie's door, knocking before entering. "Hey, kiddo. How're you doing?"

Carrie looked grumpy. "I'm okay, I guess. But I'm feeling really gross right now."

"So how should we handle this, Carrie?" I asked. "I can try to wash you down with a wet cloth, or..."

"I really want a hot shower, Dad," Carrie sighed. "You got the shower chair and the coverings for my arms and legs, right?"

"Yes," I said, "but you realize you won't be able to wash yourself even if I can get you set up in there, right?"

"I know," Carrie grumbled. "Look, I know you're going to have to help me. And I know it's going to be awkward for both of us. But I feel disgusting right now. So let's not talk about it and just do it, okay?"

"Sure kiddo," I said, offering my best comforting smile. "Let me set everything up in the bathroom and I'll be right back."

I organized everything we'd need then came back to her room. I raised her bed to the fully upright position. Then I helped her put on her bathrobe, trying to protect her modesty for as long as possible.

Once the robe was adjusted enough to cover her, I pulled back the blanket and gently lifted her up to ease her into the wheelchair. I could smell the pungent odor of her sweat as she held me for support. She was definitely overdue for a good cleaning.

Wheeling her into the bathroom was tricky, but I managed to get her close enough to the tub to be able to lift her onto the shower chair.

I'd purchased special waterproof covers for the casts on her arms and legs, basically long plastic bags with rubber seals on the ends that slid over the casts and would block the water from getting in.

But first, I had to undress her. "You okay, kiddo?" I asked as I knelt before her.

"Yes," she said, her face flushed red. "Just get it over with."

I gently removed the bathrobe. She was still wearing the nightgown, which hung low enough to cover her privates. But that had to come off, too.

Crouching before her, I slowly undid the buttons. I tried to keep my eyes focused on Carrie's face as I maneuvered the gown off of her. She was looking away, refusing to make eye contact with me. I understood completely.

Throwing the gown aside, I now focused on the task of getting the protective coverings on.

I gathered them up and as I turned to her, it hit me. My daughter was sitting there, completely naked in front of me.

Despite my best intentions and efforts, how could I not look at her?

How could I not notice her pert breasts, ripe and firm like fresh melons, capped off with perfectly pink nipples, or how they rose and fell gently with her nervous breathing?

How could my eyes not follow the flat, toned outline of her abdomen downwards toward her downy mound of natural blonde pubic hair that perfectly matched the golden locks of her head?

I blinked three times in rapid succession, breaking the spell. I had to focus, dammit!

Putting the arm coverings on was easy. The leg coverings were more difficult, and I had to part her legs wider in my struggle to get them over the heavy casts.

My eyes kept glancing between her legs no matter how hard I tried not to look. Her vulva was plump and pink and oh so smooth, and as her legs shifted with my movements they parted, revealing the delicate, floral petals of her labia.

It was beautiful.

I had to mentally slap myself. What was I doing? I shouldn't be staring at her privates like this. I'm supposed to be taking care of her, not perving on her!

With a newfound determination, I got my thoughts under control and focused on the task at hand.

I turned the water on, adjusting the temperature before using the attachment to spray Carrie down.

Her long, curly blonde locks darkened and straightened out as they absorbed the water that then gently cascaded down her shoulders and over her breasts, droplets forming, then dripping from the tips of her...

"Dad? Did you hear me?" Carrie's voice broke the spell.

"What? Oh, um...what did you say?" I stammered.

Carrie flushed, as if realizing what had distracted me. But instead of commenting on it, she simply repeated herself. "I said, can you wash my hair first? Then use the conditioner. I wanna leave that in for a while while you...wash...the rest of me."

I'm sure Carrie must have felt incredibly uncomfortable, sitting there completely naked in front of her own father, helpless and immobile, yet she hid it well. Only the blush of her cheeks gave hint to her embarrassment.

Not wanting to draw out her discomfort, I got to work, lathering up her hair and working the suds with a firm but gentle rhythm into her scalp, then rinsing it away carefully to avoid stinging her eyes.

Next, I applied a generous amount of conditioner, working it in with my hands and then, at her direction, a comb, careful not to yank at the knots, until her hair was completely untangled and saturated.

"Okay, that's good," said Carrie. "Leave it for now. You can wash up the rest of me while it soaks in."

This is where it gets really weird, I thought. I rinsed Carrie's body with the shower head again, then squirted a large dollop of body wash into a mesh bath sponge.

Starting at her shoulders I began to scrub her down quickly, trying to get this part done as soon as possible.

"Um, Dad?" Carrie broke in. "Can you..slow it down? I really need to exfoliate. Look, I know you're uncomfortable. I am too. But it's only weird if we make it weird, right? Take your time, scrub me down good, and don't be afraid to get, well...everywhere."

I had to smile at how she had echoed my earlier words to her. I took a deep breath and relaxed, then started bathing her again.

Still, I concentrated on the less intimate areas first, slowly but firmly scrubbing her back, upper arms and neck.

Eventually though, I had to move lower, over her chest, finding the valley of her cleavage. I could feel the soft flesh of her breasts along the sides of my hand as I scrubbed between them. Finally, I could avoid it no longer. I was about to wash my daughter's breasts.

"Dad?" Carrie spoke softly. I looked up, meeting her eyes fully for the first time since we'd begun this.

"It's okay," she said. Her smile was soft, warm, and genuine.

I returned her smile, releasing my tension.

My hand moved over her breasts, rubbing the mesh sponge over her left, then right breast in a repeated, circular motion, working the fruit scented lather into the fair skin that contrasted with her summer tan to form the outline of the bikini she always wore at the pool.

I hadn't felt breasts this soft yet firm since my own teenage years; sticky fumblings in the backseat of my beat up Pontiac Grand Prix with the young woman who would eventually become my wife, Carrie's mother.

My reminiscence was broken by a small gasp from Carrie, her body shaking slightly. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes, fine, just...um..." Carrie's blush had returned, and it was only then that I noticed how stiff and swollen her nipples had become. Entranced, I felt something of my own start to stiffen.

Time to move on, I thought. Although it wasn't about to get any easier for either of us.

I added more soap before moving down to wash her belly. Her stomach muscles were tight and firm, and I could feel it rise and fall with her quickening breaths as I worked my way down slowly.

No, I couldn't. Not yet.

I shifted instead to her upper thighs, although this didn't really make it any better, because in order to clean them thoroughly, I had to gently pry Carrie's legs open further, now fully exposing her most intimate area to me.

I couldn't help it. Although my hands were busy scrubbing down her thighs, my eyes were fixed on her sex. The valley of her cleft hinted at the floral treasure hidden beneath, capped at the top by the small pink hill of her clitoral hood. Above that, a soft field of wheat colored hairs, now wet and matted, suds mixed with moisture running through it to trickle over her...

"Dad?" Carrie again broke my trance and I looked up at her, startled by her voice. She'd caught me looking.

Carrie's face looked serious, but not angry. "You're going to have to wash me there eventually, so you may as well just get it over with."

Now it was my turn to blush. With an effort, I forced myself to move the hand holding the sponge up her thigh and between her legs. My cock jumped in my pants as I made contact. I ignored it.

I went softly, afraid to apply too much pressure, but Carrie again directed me, "It's not glass, Dad. It won't shatter. Get in there and scrub it good, it needs it. And don't forget my butt, too."

I did as she asked, applying a firmer pressure, watching her delicate labia open and close and flutter as the mesh sponge worked it's way over them. Carrie scooted down a bit, allowing me easier access to her butt, exposing her puckered anus as I washed her there too.

Suddenly, Carrie burst into a fit of laughter. "Sorry," she said between giggles, "but this is...it's just so..."

I was now laughing with her. "I know, kiddo, I know. The whole thing is ridiculous. I did this when you were young with no problem. Neither of us felt weird about it then. This should be no different, right?"