Classical Caregiving
By Chris Warner
This story is
written by Chris Warner, and all copyright and other rights of authorship are
retained. It is for ADULTS ONLY and contains sexual material. If you are under
18 years old and/or are offended by sexual material, please stop viewing this
page NOW. Readers are permitted to keep a copy for their own personal
reference, but this story must not be reposted or in any other way distributed,
in any form, without the express permission of the author via the e-mail
address given.
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It wasn’t unusual for me to feel like the odd one out in any group of people. Playing the cello in national competitions while attending a small
rural high school wasn’t likely to make me fit in. Then when I finished
school and went to study music at
In the world of classical music, being a misfit is normal. When I considered
the other members of the string quartet I was placed in during my first year at
music school, all of us were square pegs trying to fit into round holes.
Isabella was rich and spoilt, still living at home with her over indulgent
parents. She is probably the most beautiful looking person I know, which
ironically didn’t help her to make friends easily. In short, most people
considered her a conceited bitch. Amy was also still living at home. She and
her family seemed to perfectly fit the stereotype of Korean immigrants. Amy was
highly motivated and extremely hard-working. While she was friendly and chatty,
she had little conversation outside of her studies, and when she spoke about
classical music she was intense. She seemed to have no idea of television or
movies or popular music. Both Isabella and Amy were amazing violinists, and in
competition with each other to be the star of the group. During our practices
the sparks would fly.
In comparison to Isabella and Amy, the final member of our quartet blended into
the background. Aaron played the viola, which marked him out as unusual right
from the start. If anyone was a square peg, it was him. He hardly said a word,
and when he did he would often stumble over his words. Getting him to answer
any questions about himself was hard work. It got to the stage where we girls would
interrogate him on purpose just to get him to say something. With Amy and me it
was fairly good natured, although Isabella could be quite nasty at times. We
eventually found out that he came from a large sports-minded family, and had
received no encouragement to pursue music. He eventually made his preferences
known to his family with a strong mindedness that we couldn’t imagine he had,
and his family gave up on him becoming a sports star. Their next hope was to
try to encourage him to play electric guitar or drums, and they never got to
grips with his love of classical music and his preference for the viola.
Out of our little group, I was the only one not living at home. My parents
weren’t poor, but they weren’t exactly able to offer much financial support for
me at university. My student allowance just covered my accommodation costs in
the halls of residence, and I got by with a part time job doing two shifts a
week as a caregiver in a local rest home. Few of my classmates needed to work –
and certainly not that kind of work. I didn’t usually talk about it except when
directly asked. Most people I mentioned my job to looked horrified, although
most would say something like “I suppose the work must be rewarding.” In
reality, I really struggled with my job. The residents of the rest home had
advanced dementia, and needed assistance with most activities. Many were
incontinent. While I had grown up in a small town, I was most definitely not a
farm girl. Neither did I have any younger siblings. I was completely unprepared
for the physical realities of life. The first nappy I ever changed in my life
was for an 87-year-old woman. And the first naked man I ever saw in my life was
a shrivelled and senile 79-year-old who kept on humming the same tune for hours
on end. Disgusting!
I spent my first two months at university feeling homesick and lonely. I had
some passing acquaintances in my classes, at my accommodation and at work, but
no real friends. So I was quite pleased when Aaron started talking to me
whenever it was just the two of us together. I remember one of his first
unprompted sentences to me was to tell me a viola joke.
“What’s the difference between a viola and a trampoline?”
“What?”
“You take off your shoes before you jump on a trampoline.”
Not a bad joke in itself, but hilarious coming from this quiet viola player.
From that day onwards I started to take more of an interest in Aaron. A sense
of humour is very attractive to me. Physically he was nothing special to look
at, but he had a number of attributes that I liked. For a start he was quite
tall – nearly as tall as me. You see, I’ve been told that I would make a good
model, but that isn’t as complementary as it might sound. In reality, it was
because I was slightly over 6 foot tall, skinny with a small chest, and an
“interesting” face. I guess I wouldn’t have looked out of place in a fashion
magazine with wacky makeup and hair, but not the kind of looks that get you
asked out on dates.
It didn’t seem likely that Aaron would ask me out on a date either. As far as I
could tell he was single, and he showed to particular signs of being gay (apart
from playing the viola, of course). It’s just that having conversations with a
girl seemed to fluster him so much. I decided to take the initiative and suggested
we go for a coffee after practice one evening. He looked slightly panicked, but
agreed. I asked him again several times after that. He didn’t always agree, but
most times he did. When we were together I probably did most of the talking,
but I learned to leave gaps in the conversation for him and he began responding
more and more with intelligent and often witty contribution. A few times he
would say something slightly risqué, or use double
entendre, which I now know were his attempts at flirting with me. However, I
was invariably too slow on the uptake and his attempts fell flat. But I did
start to get the feeling he might be interested in me.
One evening as he walked me back to my room, carrying my cello case on his back
like a gentleman, I took the risk of reaching out to hold his hand. The
reaction was not as I had hoped – he was startled and instinctively pulled his
hand away. Then there was an awkward moment when he figured out what I was
trying to do, and he took my hand in his, but neither of us could relax during
the rest of our walk.
Aaron didn’t
turn up to class the following day, and his absence was particularly noticeable
to me. However, I wasn’t to know until later that his reason for not being
there was incredibly dramatic and totally unrelated to me. Aaron had been hit
by a car on his way to class that morning, and spent nearly a week in hospital
with injuries to his left leg and hip, followed by nearly a month recovering at
home. I visited him regularly, but we were never alone due to his large and
involved family. Our conversations were friendly but inconsequential.
I continued to attend practices with Isabella and Amy, but I was less than
impressed with their lack of compassion for Aaron, which barely lasted until he
was discharged from hospital. Our quartet was busy preparing for a prestigious
competition in
Two days before we were due to leave for
However, Isabella couldn’t see a problem at all. “Don’t you shower and dress
people Jo?” she asked me. “You can look after him.”
I looked at Aaron, and he appeared to be frozen with panic. His mouth was
opening and closing with unheard protests. It was left to me to try to oppose
Isabella’s plan. I tried to explain how inappropriate it would be. I tried to
make her see that doing those things for a classmate was totally different to
doing them as a job. Isabella wasn’t in the mood to listen to me, and she
became increasingly nasty about it.
“If it’s about money,” she said, “then I will pay you. But there is no way that
I’m not going to
The reality of my predicament deepened soon after I got back to my room. I was
summoned to the shared phone in my corridor, where I huddled in the phone
alcove to listen to Aaron’s mother, a loud and matter-of-fact woman, explain to
me in detail the extent of my responsibilities for caring for her son. The cast
on his left ankle was obvious, but the extent of his hip injuries needed
careful explanation. Under no circumstances was he to bend his leg more that
90degrees at the hip. He was unable to reach his lower legs below the knees.
His mother had already rung to hotel where we were staying and found out that
the rooms had showers over a spa bath – apparently the worst setup for Aaron.
She had organised a bench for him to sit on in the shower, but he would need to
have his legs carefully lifted over the side of the bath by his carer – me! I
would need to encase his cast in a plastic covering, and wash his right leg for
him. I would also need to pull his pants on and off over his lower legs and
take care of his shoes and socks.
The final humiliating item of information concerned his clothing for the
competition. Since his accident he had been wearing either shorts or loose
fitting track pants. For his competition, his mother informed me that she had
transformed some black dress pants into “stripper pants”. When I admitted I had
no idea what she was talking about, she laughed at me. She appeared to enjoy telling
me that male strippers had their pants held together by Velcro down all the
seams. In Aaron’s case, this would allow him to wear normal looking trousers
without having to get them on over his bulky cast. I blushed as I pictured what
Aaron and I would be facing over the next few days.
At least the
unusual situation I was in solved my accommodation dilemma. The competition
contestants were all staying in the one hotel. Everyone was provided with a
shared room, with the option of upgrading to a single room at extra cost.
Isabella and Amy were both paying extra for a single room, and Aaron had
originally planned to share the twin room with his mother. I would have had to
choose between sharing with a stranger or spending money I couldn’t afford on a
private room. This dilemma had now gone – I would be sharing a room with Aaron.
Isabella and Amy showed little interest in Aaron and me. As soon as we checked
in they disappeared off to their rooms, leaving me and one porter to struggle
with our luggage, instruments and Aaron’s shower bench. The porter helpfully
got us set up in our room, including sorting out the bench in the shower. Then
we were left alone, the first time we had really been totally alone since the
evening we awkwardly held hands.
If our awkward attempt at hand holding had been embarrassing, that was nothing
compared to how I felt now. Aaron started by thanking me, then thanking me
again and again, for being willing to help him out. This just increased the
tension in the room, as neither of us could figure out how to have a normal
conversation. It was already quite late, and Aaron was still suffering from
greater than normal fatigue, so it became an unspoken agreement that it was
time for bed.
I tried to appear calm and natural as I asked him to let me know what help he
would like. After he had been into the bathroom, he asked me to take off the
shoe and sock from his good leg. He removed his jersey, leaving him in a
t-shirt and shorts. After a lengthy pause while he appeared to consider his options,
he told me that he was planning to sleep in the clothes he was wearing, and he
eased himself into his bed. This left me with nothing else to do apart from
getting myself ready for bed. I changed into my modest pyjamas in the bathroom
and climbed into my own bed.
The moment of truth came the following morning. I got up first and got myself
ready in the bathroom, showering and then dressing in my good competition
clothes. When I came out of the bathroom, Aaron was lying in bed looking lost
and embarrassed. Then he broke the silence with another round of his extended
thanks for my help. He looked forlorn. My heart melted and I touched a finger
to his lips to stop him from talking.
“Stop thanking me,” I said. “You’ve been so nice to me all year, and you are
probably my closest friend. Now I have to tell you that you are starting to
smell, and Isabella will kill you if you turn up on stage looking like this.
It’s time for your shower, and if you can’t say anything other than thank you
then don’t say anything. Let’s get these clothes off.”
Aaron reacted immediately by pushing himself up off the bed and hobbling into
the bathroom. I guess he felt that immediate action was needed to stop himself from thinking too much and chickening out. He pulled
his t-shirt off over his head and moved his hand to the waistband of his
shorts. He instinctively turned his back to me before he pushed his shorts and
underpants down in one motion to his knees, revealing his naked bottom to me
for the first time.
This is where poor Aaron came unstuck. I guess he was hoping to be able to step
out of his shorts with some dignity, but they went no further than the top of
his cast. He wasn’t able to step his good leg out of his shorts because his bad
leg couldn’t support his body weight. And he was too far away from the bath to
sit down on the edge of it. He was stranded. He swore – the first time I had
ever heard him use bad language. I felt very sorry for him.
I got down on my knees behind Aaron and yanked his shorts down over his cast.
Once he was free of them he hobbled naked over to the bath. Using his arms to
take his weight he turned and lowered himself into a sitting position. I
literally did not know where to look. At first I looked up into his face, but
when I saw his eyes watering up and a tear running down his cheek, I
instinctively lowered my eyes. Without any conscious thought, my eyes went
straight to his crotch. His penis was erect and sticking straight up in the
air. I was so startled by the sight of it, so much bigger and harder than I had
ever encountered in the rest home, that I froze for some time before I dragged
my eyes away and fixed them on the other side of the room. By the time Aaron
had taken his weight off his arms and was in a position to cover himself, there was obviously little point in doing so.
Instead he used his hands to cover his face in embarrassment, and he swore
quietly to himself again.
After a few moments of not knowing what to do, I resolved to look him in the
eye again and provide some comfort and reassurance. I tried to act like a
professional caregiver and told him that everything normal, although I think I
used the words “I’m sure this is normal,” which may have undermined my fake
nonchalance. My desire to act with compassion was mingling with my curiosity
and my feelings of attraction.
I heard myself prattling on self-consciously as we did what needed to be done.
I put the waterproof cover over Aaron’s cast and carefully lifted his legs over
the side of the bath. I then sat down on the floor, leaning back against the
side of the bath to give him some privacy as he shuffled along the bench into
the shower flow and washed himself. I told Aaron to let me know when he was
ready for me to wash his lower legs, and eventually he did so. As I stood up
and turned to face him, I could see his erection was still as straight as ever
sticking up between his legs. He blushed, but again seemed to see little point
in trying to cover it up.
As tall as I am, it was still a stretch to reach across to where his feet were,
and I almost overbalanced completely. One of my hands grabbed at the wall,
while my other hand landed on Aaron’s shower bench and slid along it until my
hand was squashed up against his bare bottom. Water from the shower ran down
the side of my top. It was my turn to swear, but then I couldn’t help bursting
out with laughter. My laughter seemed to melt away Aaron’s awkwardness too as
he joined in. It was a defining moment of our time together.
Once we had recovered our composure, we were conscious of needing to hurry to
get ready. I helped him climb out of the tub, and while he was drying himself I
started trying to dry my damp clothes with the hair drier, pausing once when I
needed to pull Aaron’s underwear on over his lower legs. His penis was still no
less erect when it finally disappeared from view. He managed most of the
“stripper” pants himself, only needing my help to tidy up the lower bits. The
final step was a sock and shoe before heading for the competition hall.
I couldn’t
believe how self absorbed the other girls were. While I had no intention of
telling them any details of getting Aaron ready, I was annoyed that they didn’t
seem to have any curiosity whatsoever, or acknowledge in any way the situation
we were in for their benefit. My emotional turmoil may partly explain our poor
performance in the competition. Aaron didn’t play well either, although he at
least had the valid excuse of being in some pain and discomfort. Thankfully
Isabella and Amy seemed in no mood to dissect our performance afterwards. Amy
had a dinner engagement with
After our meal, Aaron discovered he was unable to stand. The muscles in his
good leg had cramped up, and I was forced to ask at the hotel reception for a
wheelchair to get him back to our room. He dug some painkillers out of his bag
and lay back on his bed waiting for them to kick in. He soon became drowsy as
the painkillers started hitting his bloodstream, where they mingled with the
wine he had with dinner. His side of the conversation became vague and slurred.
I wasn’t ready for him to drop off to sleep. I most certainly didn’t want to
add him to the tally of incontinent people I had cared for him, so I shook him
awake and sent him into the bathroom. Following this he staggered back into the
room and resumed his position on the bed. By this stage the alcohol and
painkillers were beginning to melt away his inhibitions. He started telling me
I was beautiful, far more often than a sober person would, but I loved it.
As he lay there on the bed, extolling my supposed beauty, he took off his tie
and started unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes were closed, and I saw no reason to
not admire his body. His chest obviously never saw much sun, but the
arrangement of the muscles was very pleasing to my eye. As he pulled his arms
free of his shirt, however, he winced with renewed pain in his leg.
I sat down on the side of his bed. I placed a hand on his shoulder in what I
thought would be a reassuring way, then I allowed it to drift down lightly onto
his chest. “Would you like me to try massaging your leg?” I asked. A nod was
all the encouragement I needed.
Since his pants were held together by Velcro, it would be dramatic to say that
I ripped them from his legs. In reality I was so scared of damaging his injured
hip that I took some time gently unfastening them. Eventually Aaron was lying
there in the dark green briefs I had helped him put on that morning.
I started gently stroking the cramped muscles in his right leg. At first my
efforts were painful for him, but after a while he began to relax and provide
some verbal encouragement for my efforts. A serene smile came over his face,
and his eyes stayed closed. I again took my opportunity to admire his body and
consider my situation. His moans and words of encouragement were beginning to
turn me on, and it was obvious that my rubbing of his leg was having the same
effect on him. The small bulge in his briefs at the start of the massage had
become a very large and obvious bulge.
The wine in my own system was also starting to have its effect on my
inhibitions. I began massaging higher and higher up his leg. A small part of my
mind was telling me to stop, but I wasn’t paying it any attention. My hand
“accidently” brushed across the front of Aaron’s briefs, then again, then again
with increasing purpose and pressure. His eyes remained closed, and his verbal
encouragement increased.
I was still rubbing the front of Aaron’s briefs, and trying to make up my mind
whether or not to pull them down, when he came. Shooting through the fabric of
his briefs, the pressure of the first few spurts was still enough to reach
partway up his stomach. The fabric of his briefs was soaked and seemed to be
full of liquid. His breathing then settled into a regular pattern as he
appeared to drift off into sleep, the smile still on his face.
Never before had I felt so sexy. I had never imagined that my first sexual
encounter would be like this, but I felt no regrets. I felt a strong desire to
cuddle in beside him as he slept, but again I was conscious of protecting his
injuries. With a sense of reluctance I pulled the blankets over his body. Still
in my sexy mood I stripped completely naked right there next to his bed before
pulling on my pyjamas and climbing into my own bed. Too bad he missed it.
When I woke up the following morning,
Aaron’s bed was empty and I could hear the shower running. I ran into the
bathroom and caught Aaron in the act of trying to lift his own legs over the
side of the bathtub. He was quite naked. I noticed his briefs lying on the
floor, and I could even make out some white stains on the dark green material.
Aaron looked startled and worried as I came into the room. He started losing
his balance, and my first action was to run to him and physically manoeuvre him
into place on his shower bench.
“What were you thinking?” I asked. “You might have really damaged yourself!”
“I’m sorry… I was embarrassed… Last night I, um, we, um… I mean, you must have
been there for some of it. I couldn’t have got ready myself, you know… Maybe it
was a dream. Men sometimes have dreams where…you know… I’m sorry,
I don’t know what I’m trying to say… I’m not trying to say that a professional
caregiver like you would normally…”
He lapsed into an embarrassed silence.
I sat down on the side of the tub and put my arm around his bare shoulder and
kissed him softly on the top of his head. “Last night wasn’t about being a
caregiver. Don’t you get it? I like you, ok?”
I placed my hand on Aaron’s cheek and turned his head to face me. Our first
proper kiss was soft and gentle, and I kept it going for some time before we
eventually separated our mouths. His expression was one of confusion and
self-doubt, which I choose to interpret in a positive way – I choose to believe
that he couldn’t believe his luck. My sexiness of the previous night had
returned, and I felt unbelievably confident and powerful.
It was obvious to me what my next move should be. He had been naked and
incredibly vulnerable before me, which had never been reciprocated. I
immediately regretted the prim and modest pyjamas I was wearing. I considered
going back to the bedroom to change into sexier clothes, then I realised that I
didn’t really have anything suitable with me. So I determined just to make the
best of the situation I was in.
I stood before Aaron and started unbuttoning my pyjama shirt. Once all the
buttons were undone, I spent a few seconds teasing him in what I hoped was a
sexy way before I dramatically pulled my shirt open and let it drop to the
floor behind me.
I wouldn’t say that I had previously gone to any extra efforts to retain my
modesty. But in the absence of previous sexual partners, close female siblings
or friends, or being part of a sports team, I was aware that few people had
ever seen my naked chest, certainly not a boy I fancied. The moment was scary
but also safe. Aaron was clearly self-conscious about looking, but there was no
denying his interest in what I was showing him. His interest was particularly
obvious, if you know what I mean.
I was wearing just one item of clothing now, long pyjama pants with an elastic
waist. I couldn’t imagine how I could remove them in any sexy way, and I was
afraid that if I hesitated I might lose my sexy confidence, so I went for
direct assertive action. Facing Aaron and looking directly at him, I simply
pushed my pants downs to my ankles and stepped out of them.
It will of course sound silly to say I felt naked. But I really, really felt
NAKED. I am always naked at some stage during every day, but when you are alone
you think nothing of it. Suddenly I was standing naked in a hotel bathroom
being admired by an equally naked young man. The vulnerability blew my mind. I
could feel my pulse racing, and Aaron and I both gasped at the same time as our
bodies told us that we had stopped breathing. I had a brief moment of panic
while my mind found all sorts of reasons to stop. Was I ready for this? Had I
known Aaron long enough? Then the panic passed. I was nearly 19, I was
attracted to Aaron, I deserved to have some fun, and I was certainly in the
mood.
I climbed into the tub and straddled Aaron’s legs, planting a knee on each side
of him on the bench he was sitting on. I gently lowered myself onto his lap and
kissed him. The top of his erection was pressed between us, and I started to
grind my pussy along the shaft. His hands were rubbing up and down my back. He
broke off our kiss and transferred his mouth to my breasts. The attention he
paid to my nipples was divine.
I reached my hand down to hold his penis and I attempted to guide it into my
vagina. This proved to be not nearly as easy or instinctive as I had hoped. I
couldn’t work out the angles, and I began to feel flustered and anxious. Then I
felt Aaron’s hand gently holding mine and pulling it out of the way. Then his
own hand returned to my pelvis and he started stroking and caressing me there.
I felt myself responding to the movement of his fingers, and my anxiety melted
away to be replaced by feelings of pure lust and excitement. I have no idea
about the passing of time, but Aaron’s fingers didn’t let up at all until I had
an orgasm.
As my body began to relax and settle in Aaron’s lap, his erection became
obvious to me again. He had attended to my needs unselfishly and I was
determined that we would have sex together. Using body language alone I
manoeuvred him out of the tub and onto his bed. I pushed him flat on his back
and climbed on top of him. In this position it all came easier to us. My
darling was so turned on that he came inside me after only a few thrusts.
We cuddled in silence for a few minutes. Aaron was the first to speak.
“Jo?”
“Yes.”
“Am I allowed to say thank you?”
I laughed. “Just once, if you’re sure you have to.”
“Thank you!”
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The End
December 2009