My buddy Chase and I often hung out at his place on our off days. He's a single guy who likes to play both sides of the field, but plans to remain single. As such, his small house reflected that. Picture a mancave style throughout the entire house. Since there was no permanent woman to decorate, there was a lot of wood, heavy duty but functional furniture, huge TVs, and a full bar and pool table in the game room.
Lately though, playing pool or video games was only a memory, due to an unfortunate car accident. Chase had broken both hands and wrists which now had matching casts, thereby limiting his activities. Chase had even hired a home health aide to help him with day to day issues that he couldn't handle on his own. Cooking, cleaning, washing, laundry, and such had to be done by a stranger. He had no family close by, and was too proud to ask for their help anyway.
I helped him with what I could while I was there, as his hired help was only there during certain hours. By the third week, Chase was going stir crazy. He couldn't drive himself anywhere so wasn't going out like he used to, and his social life had taken a big hit. He would complain about it every time I was over there. We were on another Netflix binge of random B movies. They were almost all awful but we had gone through pretty much all the good content, so were now going through all the stuff we had never heard of before.
Chase was struggling with the remote to stop another bad movie while I watched him. I had tried to get him to let me help, but the constant denials and subsequent complaining led me to simply watch and wait. I understood that Chase wanted to do things on his own whenever possible, but sometimes it was just irritating to behold.
"Fuck this movie and fuck this remote!" Chase loudly complained as he fumbled the controller between his cast laden hands.
"Calm down man, it's just a movie. You need to get a grip. And that seems to have become your new favorite word." I replied.
"Fuck you." he grumbled.
"Do you want another?" I asked, indicating his empty Coke bottle.
I didn't wait for the answer, but simply got up and headed for the kitchen with the old bottle to exchange it for a new one. Bringing it back, I opened it for him and placed the extended straw inside for easy access.
"There you go, are you good now?" I asked.
"I can't wait for these fucking casts to be gone." was his reply.
After a few minutes of browsing through all the unwatched selections we hadn't tried, Chase abruptly dropped the remote on the couch next to him. He scooted, shimmied, and finally rose out of his chair with the grace of a wounded wildebeest.
"I'll be right back. See if you can find something worth watching while I'm gone."
I scrolled while I waited, and after some time settled on a potentially worthwhile selection. I continued to wait to start the movie until Chase returned. It was a long wait. I started to grow concerned until I heard Chase's voice from the back of the house.
"Brad, could you come back here and give me a hand?"
I followed his voice into his bedroom. Not finding him there I was about to leave to search elsewhere.
"Brad! Did you get lost or something?" I heard him call out.
The voice came from the master bath behind the mostly closed door. I approached, but remained outside.
"What do you need?" I asked through the door.
"I need your help! What do you think 'give me a hand' means?" he replied harshly.
I slowly opened the door and saw Chase standing in front of his toilet with his back to me. I could tell he was fumbling by his movements and posture.
"Should I come back later?" I asked.
"No! I need help! That's why I called you. My fingers are useless in these things." Chase complained as he held up his cast encased hands. "I was able to get it out, but now can't put it away."
"You know I'm your friend Chase, but there are limits." I laughed.
"Screw you and your fully functional fingers!" he responded. "Just help me get my dick back in my shorts, or you'll end up with a mouthful of cast."
He turned towards me and his limp cock swung back and forth in the cool air. How he had managed to get his zipper down and his cock out in the first place was a mystery, but apparently he couldn't reverse the process. I grabbed his cock and stuffed it back into his shorts. Then I zipped him up, making sure not to injure him in the process. Every guy knows what catching your dick in your zipper is like, and I didn't want to hear about that kind of thing for the rest of my life.
Over the next couple of weeks it seemed like I was helping him every time I was over there. Sometimes it was getting dressed, sometimes it was more bathroom incidents like the first one. I had never seen a cock that much in my life except for my own. Chase even started making little jokes and comments every time I helped him.
"Since you're already handling my dick, maybe you could do a guy a favor."
"Before you get my shorts on me, maybe you could help a guy out."
Since you're on your knees anyways..."
I was starting to get sick of the jokes, and I let him know it. "Your sneakers aren't gonna tie themselves Chase. One more comment like that and you're shoeless the rest of the day."
