My name is Steven and I am 40 years old, male, my marriage has hit a rough patch and it's been a while since my wife and I had intercourse, I had remained faithful, until I met Delia.
My job is to transport medical equipment to elderly people's homes, special hospital beds for people who still live at their own home but are immobilized. It was a Monday, pretty typical, a sexless weekend as usual, until I arrived at 235 W Walnut St, Mary Murkowski. As I walked up to the front door I noticed a few rocks along the siding had slipped and fallen, casting mulch over the yard. The rocks looked to be about 30-50 pounds each. I knocked on the screen door, and heard from the inside,
"Are you Steven?" she asked, she was supposed to have me say my name, not her say it, security measure the old folks never seem to understand.
"Yes, I'm Steven."
"Come on in, I can't walk."
I opened the screen door, and the front door was already opened, so I entered the home. Inside was surprisingly clean, and fresh smelling. Sometimes old people have the most disgusting smells in their home, and no doubt contributes to their decaying state. Anyways, this was a refreshing change of pace.
"I'm in here," she yelled.
I turned the corner, expecting to see an old lady, but instead saw a very young woman, looked to be about 18 years old, sitting on the couch. I froze in place, not expecting an exotic fruit like that to just fall into my line of sight. She had curly, natural blonde hair, rosy cheeks and a nice golden tan. She wore a low cut sports bra, the top of her breasts protruding outwards, medium sized flesh pushing against her purple bra. Her stomach, exposed, was flat and lean, without too many muscles. Her legs, long and tan, ending in gorgeous looking painted toes and dirt on the bottoms of her feet. Her black shorts barely covered her thighs, and as she was sitting very comfortably with her legs slightly opened wide, I could see hot pink underwear, and a beautifully dark area that may or may not have been covered by the panties. My observation was interrupted when I heard a voice.
"right over here," a lady said, with a wheezing breath.
I turned, and in the opposite corner of the room was one of our large, at-home hospital beds. It spanned from wall to wall, and was leaning up against a window. The woman in the bed, looking youngish but also overweight and worn down by the disability that was affecting her, leaned her back against a stack of pillows and blankets.
"The bed isn't moving up, I need to sit up," she said, helplessly, as she pointed to the pillows behind her on the flat bed.
"Got it," I said, and I bent down to check if there was anything caught on the control struts.
"Del, get him a flashlight," Mrs. Murkowski said to her daughter. Delia stood up, from my vantage point on the ground I got to see a flash more of her pink panties as she opened her legs up before standing. With a slight arch of her back I could see her stomach sucking in, she was skinny with wide hips that moved outwards, muscular legs seemed to suggest she spent most of her time on her legs rather than doing anything with her upper body. She walked away from me as I glanced at her butt, round and slightly larger than her skinny waist. She bobbed her butt cheeks back and forth, and I wondered if she was doing that on purpose for me.
"That's my daughter, Delia, she's 18."
"Uh-huh."
I had finished inspecting underneath the bed, they had kept it clear. I wanted to stay on the ground for a sec. Normally patient's homes were filled with cat hair and things too horrible to explain, but this carpet was recently vacuumed, so I didn't mind laying down. I grabbed the remote control. They are so easy to operate, just 3 buttons. The first one was elevating the head section so they could sit up. It did nothing. I checked the other buttons, they worked fine. Perhaps it was the controller but most likely just the one head part. I waited on the ground, just a moment longer, until finally Delia came back into the room.
"Give it to him," Mrs. Murkowski said.
She got down on the ground with me. She was on her hands and knees. I could see down her sports bra at her fleshy cleavage. Her hair fell down around me, sending a gust of rainforest breeze my way. Her eyes, a beautiful green, but her stare was blank. She looked right at me, but I couldn't tell her expression. She seemed very quiet and reserved, and I didn't know what she was thinking. She handed me the flash light that I didn't need.
"Okay, thanks." I said, shining it around for good measure. "Yep, nothing under here. Thank you, darling," I said and handed her the flashlight. She was looking where I was looking, and so her butt was pointed right up in the air.
I got back to my feet and addressed Mrs. Murkowski. "I think the part that lifts the head frame is broke, unfortunately I have to order the part and it might not get here until Thursday."
"You mean I have to live like this until Thursday? Oh well, I guess if that's what I have to do."
"I'm so sorry," I said, and explained how her bed was an older model we don't use anymore, which is why we have no parts on hand. That caused her to open up about her condition. Delia left the room.
"Some time ago, my husband and I were in a bad car accident," Mrs. Murkowski said with heavy breathing. "Thankfully, Delia was with her grandmother. My husband, he died, and I was paralyzed."
"I'm so sorry to hear that," I told her.
"Well it's okay, you get that part and I'll feel better." She waved me off and I left. Delia was in the kitchen, putting dishes away. I got one last, quick look at her tight butt in her short shorts. Apparently she was the one that did all the cleaning in the house, no doubt at the behest of her mother's marching orders. When I walked out of the house, I once again noticed the landscaping rocks that had fallen. Delia probably could not lift them as they were too heavy. I walked across the yard and heaved them into place. Brushed the mulch back with my boot, then returned to my work van.
From then until Thursday, I had thought about Delia a lot. I hoped that when I installed the part, she would be there. Seemed likely, as her mother couldn't do much by herself. I kept thinking of how beautiful her face and skin were. The mysteries of seeing more of her pink underwear, and wanting to see if there was any personality under that no doubt frightened and scarred demeanor. Losing her father and having her mother paralyzed must be soul crushing for her.
Thursday came. I was nervous. I drove the 45 minutes to Mrs. Murkowski's street. I carried the strut in a box with me, and once again the door was open with just the screen door closed. I knocked and opened the door without waiting for a reply.
"Come on in," I heard the voice yell. I was already inside, this time, no Delia, on the couch or in the kitchen. My heart sank a bit.
"Finally, my hero," Mrs. Murkowski said, in her wheelchair.
"Once again I am so sorry you had to wait," I said.
"That's okay, I also noticed you fixed the rocks outside. That was you, right?"
"Well, yes," she saw that I got red with embarrassment, half the reason I love this job is the joy of helping people who need the help.
"That's so nice, thank you," she said, she was warm and heartfelt.
I got to work, swapping the old part out and in with the new. I checked the hand control, and thankfully it started working. I breathed a sigh of relief it wasn't anything more complicated than that.
"Amazing!" She cheered.
"Do you want me to help you?" I asked, because she was in a wheel chair next to the bed, so I didn't know if she could transfer on her own.
