My Stepmother Is My Total Caregiver

Stepmother, Scarlett, is devoted to her handicapped stepson, Jerry.

Even though I'm crippled and confined to a wheelchair, I have a lot to be thankful for. I'm thankful for my stepmother, Scarlett. If it wasn't for her taking care of me, I'd be in a nursing home. I can't imagine a 27-year-old man living in a nursing home and surrounded by old people.

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Author's Note:

This is a true story written for Jerry after becoming paralyzed from the waist down from a horrific car accident that claimed his father's life.

When my father, Frank, crashed his car, I was 27 years old and my stepmother, Scarlett, was 42 years old. Unfortunately, not surviving the crash, my father was killed in the accident. Not a passenger in the car with us, fortunately, Scarlett, was at work at the time of the accident. With her normally a front seat passenger, had she been in the car, with my father crashing his car in a tree, even if she had been wearing her seatbelt, she may have been severely injured or killed.

No longer able to live on my own and care for myself, this story is about me living with my stepmother as my primary caregiver. As if I'm her helpless baby, every day she bathes me, dresses me, gets me out of bed and in my wheelchair and cooks for me. No doubt had my father survived the accident; he would have been jealous of the attention that she dotes on me. Instead of allowing his second wife to care for me in the way that she does, he would have put me in a nursing home.

'Sorry, Dad,' but I'm glad that you're dead,' I thought in selfish disregard of him. 'Cheating on Mom long before she died of breast cancer, you were nothing but an evil bastard. Yet, grateful for the one good thing that you did, I'm glad that you married Scarlett. The only thing you did right, she's been my God send.'

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Not only am I living with my stepmother but also, I'm totally dependent on her. Yet, better than having a round-the-clock, live-in nurse, thank God for my stepmother, Scarlett, caring for me. She's my sweet angel of mercy sent and delivered to me from Heaven.

Helping to make my life as normal as she can, I owe her for my more comfortable quality of my life. Treating me as if she's my real mother instead of my stepmother, she's kind, loving, patient, and caring. I don't know which strip club my father found her but I don't know what I'd do without her.

Fortunately, and gratefully, my father was rich. He left me and my stepmother a small fortune and a hefty life insurance policy when he died. As long as we're careful with the money, neither one of us will have to work for the rest of our lives.

'Thank you, Dad,' I thought.

I have plenty enough money to hire a full-time, live-in nurse. Yet, with Scarlett, devoted to me, we decided and mutually agreed that instead of having a stranger living with us in our house, she'd quit her job and care for me full time. With us having plenty of money to support ourselves, she no longer needed to work as a secretary in my father's defunct, law firm.

I discovered that he met her when she was a stripper in an exclusive, private gentleman's club. Even now, she definitely has the body to be a stripper. Yet, having more respect for her than removing her clothes while dancing around a pole, I love her.

I love my stepmother in the way that a stepson loves his stepmother and in the way that a stepson should never sexually lust over his stepmother. I can't help myself from imagining her stripping herself naked. I can't help myself from imagining having sex with her. I wish that I could have sex with Scarlett.

With my stepmother caring for me, washing me and dressing me, that meant my she'd be seeing me naked. Normally, I'd be sexually excited about her seeing my naked body while washing my naked body, but I can no longer get and maintain an erection. Now, it doesn't matter if she sees me naked and/or even if I see her naked. Sadly, I'd still have the same limp dick reaction.

I have a physical therapist who exercises me, an occupational therapist who helps to make my daily life easier with tips and mobility suggestions, and a registered nurse who takes my vital signs. They come to my home for an hour each once a week to interrupt my boring day of watching TV, playing video games, and playing board games with my stepmom. No longer going outside to drive my new Mustang GT, or entertain friends, I sit at home alone in my wheelchair vegetating and deteriorating.

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I went from a four-day hospital stay to recoup at a rehabilitation center for two weeks. Always heathy and physically active before, my life has become a handicapped nightmare now. Having already lost much of my muscle mass by not moving, walking, and/or exercising, I'm looking forward to the day when I can walk and exercise again. Before the accident, having exercised all of my life, I was physically fit.

The good news, if I deem that as good news is, after testing me for this and that, and ruling out this and that, my doctor finally believed that I may have Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus. He believed that NPH was caused by the devastating blow to my body from the car accident. Basically, Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus is a fancy term for having excess fluid in my brain.

If I do have NPH, a relatively easy fix, albeit one that requires surgery, a surgeon drills a hole in the top of my head. Then, he installs a narrow tube with an adjustable shunt to drain excess spinal fluid in my brain to my stomach. Only, the surgery works in only 50 percent of people.

Sometimes, the conditions reappear within two years. The only side effects to the surgery are infections and rejections which are rare and that may require them to redo the surgery or remove the shunt. With a lot that can go wrong, I'm worried about having the surgery. Yet, I'm willing to risk it to walk again.

With me able to afford the best medical care and the best surgeons in the world, the chances of me having side effects are slim. I just hope that with the surgery that I can walk again, even with the help of a rollator. Unfortunately, even after the surgery, with one not having anything to do with the other, I still may or may not have erections.

Presently, I can't walk more than a few steps. I'm unable to get around unless Scarlett helps me to my wheelchair. I must wear a transfer, gait belt for her to hold onto me so that I don't fall. Moreover, difficult for a 27-year-old man to fathom, the hardest thing to endure, I can no longer get and maintain erections.

I can no longer have sex. Besides not being able to walk, not being able to get and maintain an erection is devastating. I can't even masturbate myself with my limp dick being so unresponsive to my horny hand.

Yet, things could be so much worse for me than they are now. I could have been killed in that car accident. I could be dead. I could have been paralyzed from the neck down. At least I can still use my hands and arms to eat and to wipe myself after using the toilet.

Having more compassion that I never had before, my heart goes out to all those people who have even more serious handicaps than me. I can't even imagine being born deaf and/or blind and/or without arms and/or legs. At least, I can hear and see. At least, I still have use of my arms. Moreover, a miracle that I hope happens, with them giving me hope for a normal life, doctors tell me that, one day, after the surgery, I may walk again.

Yet, sometimes I think what is worse than death is if I needed to continue to have full-time therapy at a rehab center. Bored lying around in bed all day and deteriorating while waiting for my physical therapist to come and get me to work out for an hour or two was a nightmare. At least, I'm out of the hospital, out of the rehab center, and finally living at home with my beloved stepmother. At least with my stepmother caring for me, I don't have nurses interrupting my day to continually take my vital signs, take my blood, and stick me with needles.

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The biggest concession that we had to make was selling my father's beautiful, 6,500 square foot, 5 bedroom, 6 bath, three floor house to live in a more manageable 3,000 square foot, one floor, 3 bedroom, 4 bath house. Stairs are an impossible task when confined to a wheelchair. With this one-story house having an open floor plan and with plenty of wide-open space, I can wheel myself around without crashing into anything and without being required to climb stairs.

The center of all of my attention, my stepmother has become my whole universe. Even though I was sexually attracted to her before the accident, with me no longer getting erections, I think of her more as my mother than as my hot stepmother. Of course, with my father's discriminating eye for strippers, Scarlet is as intelligent s she is beautiful, sexy, and shapely. She's 5'10" tall, has long, lush, red hair, big, beautiful, green eyes, and huge, double D cup breasts.

Sexually attracted to big breasted women, I love that she has big tits. Even though I don't dare touch them or feel them, at least I can look at them. I can stare at them while imagining having my wicked, sexual way with her huge breasts.

Nothing more than a sexual fantasy, I'd love to kiss my stepmother. I'd love to French kiss her. I'd love to make out with her while touching her and feeling her everywhere through her clothes that a stepson should never touch and feel his stepmother. Then, nothing more than a sexual fantasy, I'd love to slowly strip her naked.

With her always wearing low-cut nightgowns that show off her long, sexy line of cleavage, at the very least, I only wish that I could masturbate over my stepmother's big tits. Again, at the very least, I'd love to cum all over her big, naked breasts. Even more sexually graphic, I wish I could cum all over her beautiful face after she sucks my prick. I wish I could give my stepmother a cum bath. Yet, again, nothing more than sexual fantasies, unfortunately, my loving stepmother would never want me in that sexual way.

Giving me hope for a full recovery, the doctors believe that one day, after the surgery that I may walk again. They believe that, one day, I may even have erections. Yet, with a team of specialists continually calling me in for tests and giving me false hope, I suspect that they're just using me to inflate their medical bills. Until they can reconnect whatever became disconnected in my brain and broken in my body, I must make do without walking and without having sex.

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Our nightmare began when my father crashed his Bentley Continental GT into a tree. He loved that car enough to die in it. Because he wasn't wearing a seatbelt, he never wore a seatbelt, he believed that the care, craftsmanship, and much of the handmade construction of the car would save him. Sadly, it didn't. Fortunately for my stepmother and I, he's dead, buried, and out of our way for us to live in his house and spend his money.

Much like Princess Diana and Dodi Al Fayed, Henri Paul, the driver of their limousine, wasn't wearing a seatbelt either. Had they all worn seatbelts, they may have survived the crash. The only one wearing a seatbelt was their bodyguard, Trever Rees-Jones.

Normally, ready to react to any problem, bodyguards don't wear seatbelts. Yet, Trever was so alarmed by Henri Paul's reckless driving that he buckled up at the last moment. Too bad that he didn't order Princess Diana and Dodi Al Fayed to buckle up too. Not that they would have listened to him, but they didn't need to die because of Henri Paul's, reckless, driving.

After the accident, it was determined that Henri Paul was drunk. He was drunk and speeding in the black S280 Mercedes limo. Traveling in one of the safest cars in the world, Diana and Dodi were seatbelt free to frolic in the backseat. They didn't think that they needed to buckle up. Yet, of course, they did.

Apparently, except for the bodyguard, albeit finding out too late, they were unaware that Henri was drunk. They didn't realize that they'd soon be involved in a horrific, deadly accident. Even with wearing his seatbelt, their bodyguard, Trever Rees-Jones, broke every bone in his face and endured ten days in a coma. Yet, somehow, he was lucky to have survived the crash.

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My dad had this ridiculous notion that if he wore a seatbelt and wasn't conscience to unbuckle it, in case of a serious accident, that he'd burn to death in his car. Yet, the chances of being trapped in a burning car is slim to nil. Even after hitting that tree and totaling his car, his car didn't catch fire. There was a greater chance of being killed in a car accident when not wearing his seatbelt which, of course, he was killed when he slammed into an immovable object such as a tree.

Had he hit a wall instead of a tree, he may have survived the crash. With the impact energy spread across the entire front of the car, instead of concentrating in one spot, he may have endured the crash. Only, with him gone, he not only left me and his second wife, my stepmother, his house, and his money, but also his generous, life insurance policy proceeds, too.

Now, even though I can afford to buy nearly any car in the world, and even though I have my driver's license, I don't drive. My brand-new Mustang Shelby GT 500 sits idly in my garage. Instead of driving ourselves wherever we need to go, we take cabs or limousines for longer trips. Turned off on driving after watching my father die, I never want to drive another car again. I'd rather be chauffeured around by a professional driver, one who never drinks while driving.

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My biggest regret, wishing that I could have and maintain an erection, I wish that I could have sex with my stepmother. I'd love to touch and feel her everywhere while slowly stripping her naked. I'd love to give her multiple, sexual orgasms with my fingers and my mouth. I'd love to make out with her while making love to her. I'd love to fuck her. I'd love for her to blow me. I'd love to cum in her mouth while she stares up at me adoringly.

Yet, what normally would be something sexually exciting, instead of me stripping her naked, she strips me naked. She bathes me and gets me dressed every day. Once dressed, she helps me alight from my adjustable, power bed to get me in my power wheelchair. Then, when in the kitchen, she serves me breakfast with black coffee. An addicted necessity, I love strong, French Roast, black coffee.

Another benefit of having money, in addition to my adjustable power bed, is my power wheelchair. Thank God that I can afford a power wheelchair. More than a luxury for me but a necessity, I can't imagine doing without having my power wheelchair. Actually, I have two, top of the line, power wheelchairs, one that's always charged and at the ready when one stops working or the battery is run down. I'm so glad that I don't need to rely on her to push me or, a tiring task, to have to wheel myself.

One day, while washing me, as it so happened, and an encouraging sign that something was working or trying to work down there, I felt horny. The first time feeling horny since the accident, I suddenly felt sexually aroused and sexually frustrated at the same time. Continually staring at Scarlett's huge, nightgown clad breasts, I suddenly felt sexually attracted to my stepmother again, especially to her huge breasts.

'I love her big tits,' I thought while staring at all that I could see of them through her sheer and sexy, low-cut nightgown.

Unembarrassed to admit my sexual attraction to big breasted women, I have a sexual fetish for big, breasted women. Whether black women or white women, I love women with big tits. I love my stepmother's big breasts. Wishing that I could masturbate over them, I so wanted to see her naked breasts and feel her naked breasts. I wished that I could finger her erect nipples while sucking her nipples.

Having never touched her breasts and/or sexually felt her huge breasts, I wondered what she'd do if I reached out my horny hand and inappropriately touched and felt her breasts through her nightgown. While daring myself to do so, something that I had always wanted to do, indeed, while thinking about doing it, I wondered what she'd do if I touched and felt her big tits through her nightgown. Worth the risk of her being angry with me, I was tempted to reach out my horny hand and feel her big tits.

Before the accident, with me sexually attracted to her, I used to masturbate over having sex with her. I used to masturbate over making out with her while touching and feeling her everywhere through her clothes. I used to masturbate over imagining her naked. I used to masturbate over her blowing me.

I used to dream of touching her tits. I used to dream of seeing her naked breasts. I used to dream of sucking her big nipples while fondling her huge breasts. I used to dream of eating her pussy while masturbating her. I used to dream of making love to her before fucking her. I used to dream of giving her multiple, sexual orgasms. Now, with me unable to do any of that, I have to be sexually satisfied with just hugging her while thanking her for helping me.

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As she does every morning, she entered my room wearing a short, low-cut, sheer, and sexy nightgown. Seemingly, with her exposing much of her naked breasts to me, she deliberately sexually teased me while, no doubt, trying to entice me to get an erection. I could clearly see much of her big, naked breasts through her sheer nightgown. Sometimes, depending on the nightgown that she wore, I could even see her nipples and her areolas.

Every morning, as if daring me to touch and feel her, she sat close enough to me that I could reach out and touch and feel her breasts through her nightgown with my horny hands. Only, uncomfortably embarrassed to do so, yet, wanting to, wishing that I did, and regretting when I didn't, I never touched her tits or felt her tits through her nightgown. Wishing that I could, at least, masturbate myself over seeing so much of Scarlett's huge tits, I was so tempted to touch and feel my stepmother's nearly naked breasts through her sheer nightgown.

Instead, controlling myself, all that I did was to stare at all that she was showing me of her naked breasts and all that I could see of her big tits. Every morning, if only I could get and maintain an erection, I'd clearly have one seeing so much of my stepmother's naked breasts. The biggest tits that I have ever seen, she has amazing tits. With her big, natural, double D cup breasts bouncing up and down and side to side, I'd love to see her jogging or skipping rope.

Yet, instead of groping her, I remained motionless immobile while lying on my adjustable bed as she stripped me naked and washed me. I wished that I could fondle her breasts while she stripped me naked. I wished that I could finger and suck her nipples while she washed me. Instead, all that I did was to stare up at all that I could see of her huge, nearly naked, nightgown clad breasts.

Her tits were indeed huge. I wondered what her naked breasts looked like. For her to work as a stripper and removing her clothes while dancing around a pole, I imagined that she had spectacular breasts, amazing natural tits. I wondered what her naked breasts felt like. I imagined that they felt as soft as they felt firm. Nothing more than my sexual fantasy, I'd love to see her naked breasts. I'd love to feel naked tits. I'd love to finger and suck her erect nipples.

With her always sexually teasing me by partially showing me her naked breasts and her long line of sexy cleavage, I wondered if she'd allow me to touch her breasts. I wondered if she'd allow me to feel her tits through her sexy nightgowns. I wondered if she'd allow me to fondle her naked breasts while pulling, turning, and twisting her erect nipples.

Only, not wanting to embarrass her, make her feel uncomfortable, and/or pressure her to have sex with me, grateful for all that she was doing to help me, even though I wanted to, I didn't dare touch and feel her breasts. Yet, nevertheless, while wondering if she'd allow me to have my wicked, sexual way with her naked breasts, unable to control myself, I took a chance that she would. In a weak moment of horniness, while apologizing to her with my eyes, I reached up my horny hand and felt one of Scarlett's breasts through her nightgown.