Kids do stupid things.

It’s a saying you didn’t already know. My parents told me. Your parents told you. Everyone has heard it.

It’s a saying backed up in reality. Everyone has done something idiotic, especially in their younger years. As a DWI lawyer on the radio said, “We’re human, we invented screwing up a good thing.”

In my case (my name is Tim), I was 19 years old and my brother, Tony, was 21, and the situation found us camping with our friends. In truth, they were Tony’s friends as I really didn’t have very many, but thankfully my big bro always kept me under his wing.

While it wasn’t like I was some sort of social outcast, I was just shy. Opposingly, Tony was always the popular, “party-guy” in school so, when we went camping, of course booze was involved. And, yes, I let them talk me into things I normally wouldn’t be doing.

Like getting drunk.

Really drunk.

Being drunk led to performing feats of strength. Performing feats of strength lead to Tony falling over on top of me, into the fire. He burned his back up pretty bad and my hands were basically toast. Plus, did I mention that, in addition to the awful 3rd degree burns on my hands, the bones in them (and those of both forearms) were either crushed or fractured due to the cinder-block I had them in?

Like I said, stupid.

We were both in the hospital for a couple of days (I think Tony faked additional pain to keep me company) and were discharged into our parents care. Tony would be fully healed within a couple of weeks and was basically “fine” after only about 6 days. I was in much worse shape.

The good news is that our parents were understanding and, as a helpful side note, pretty wealthy. Neither of them quit their jobs, instead they hired health aids to come and work with us. For Tony, that meant just having his bandages changed a couple times a day. For me, that meant I needed help with pretty much everything.

When I made the embarrassing realization that I couldn’t even wipe my own ass after pooping I begged my parents to install a bidet in my bathroom. The logistics of that, however, were such that it would have taken months of permits, plumbing, construction, etc.. Plus, even a bidet involves wiping of some sort. Simply put, not practical… not worth it… and the health aid was hired.

I am sure your head is now going wild with visions of a slutty 25-year-old with big tits, a tiny waist, a nice ass and a waxed landing strip. But, reality is different from porn. Instead, our nurse was Mrs. Gentile. She was a very nice, middle-aged widow that I think was of Italian heritage. Not overweight but certainly not in-shape. Not ugly but certainly not magazine-cover ready. Not unattractive but, at my 19-years-old, certainly not my type. Now, reflecting on this time of my life in hindsight, she was a very typical lower-middle-class individual. She came in, did her job and left. There was nothing else. Life had beaten her up to the point that she was no longer hungry or fiesty. She just kinda’… was.

Of course, she realized the different situation she was in. In general, her clients were the elderly who were either rehabbing from a procedure or were basically left to themselves by their kin, if there even were kin to speak of. She made silly comments here and there about how helping me get bathed was the highlight of her day or that she should hook her daughter up with me but it was all in jest, the relationship was professional.

Until it wasn’t.

In that there was no longer a relationship.

Mrs. Gentile had a heart attack and died one day while at our house. I found out later she had a long history of smoking and only had recently just quit after a previous heart attack. I was sad, a little bit at least, I didn’t know her that well but it is still rarely a positive occurrence to have someone you know pass away. But, my life would still go on. I was still young with plenty of time in front of me but also, in the short term, still very much in need of an aid.

This is where my life changed.

Andrea, Mrs. Gentile’s daughter, came to our house after the funeral to pick up some items of her mother’s that had been left the day she died. She was visibly shaken at the services and, while my parents said that there was no rush, she said that she would rather just take care of things as quickly as possible.

While shaken at the services, at our house she totally broke down.

We learned that Andrea was now on her own. Like, completely on her own. She was going to night-school to be a nurse and was already registered as an aid like her mom but, because of her limited hours of availability, was unable to get full-time hours as most day-shifts were full of workers who could also work night-shifts. She was about to lose the apartment they shared… life was falling apart.

I felt for her but, in my delusion of never having really felt any sort of hardship in my life, I figured it just kinda’ sucked to be her and she would have to figure things out.

Thankfully, my parents are much better people than me.

By the end of the conversation, a deal had been struck. Andrea would stay with us in the house, she would be my nurse during the day and would go to night-school to finish her degree. Many tears were shed between her and my mother during the entire exchange and I was left bewildered and a bit upset in that everything was done without a bit of my input. I mean, shouldn’t I have gotten a say? Not to say I had any input in hiring her mom, just that it felt different this time around. It was one thing to have your ass-wiped by a matronly nurse, something completely different when your nurse is only, as it turned out, 1 year older than you.

Andrea, like her mom, was just kinda’ a plain sort of every-day girl though I couldn’t tell much about her physically the first couple of times we met. At the funeral she was draped in a black shawl/poncho/sari type of thing and on moving day she was wearing sweats and a baggy t-shirt. She didn’t appear to be wearing much, if any, makeup and had her longer, dark-brown hair pulled back in a simple pony-tail both days.

As far as living at our house, she moved into Tony’s room. Tony had been itching to move into our parents basement for some time (a cliche, I know) but with the opportunity presented he took his chance. The two rooms were connected by a jack-and-jill bathroom and was thought to be convenient because of her having to help me in the bathroom anyhow. I personally thought it just made an awkward situation even worse but my parents would hear none of my complaints. Besides, Andrea seemed to agree with them that it made the most sense.

The day she moved in I refused to go to the bathroom, embarrassed at the prospect of the help. I figure Andrea was happy to put things off for a while but was surprised when she came into my room later in the evening to see if I needed any assistance.

“Nope, good on my end,” I responded to her inquiry, trying to keep my focus on the TV in my room.

“Are you sure? Not before bed?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

I told myself that I was being helpful but am sure that I instead came across as an unwelcoming jerk.

“Okay, well, let me know.”

She was very sweet about it and left me in my room, my bladder beginning to feel full and anxiety at a full alert.

…yet I waited.

I waited for 3 solid hours.

It was 2:30am and I had not heard any noise or stirring coming out of Andrea’s room for at least 45 minutes. Even then it had just been the sound of tossing-and-turning as she was most likely trying to get acclimated to sleeping in a new space.

As quietly as I could, I snuck into the bathroom that adjoined our rooms, thankful that she had not closed the door when she left my room previously. It turned out she had not closed her door either and, while I was tempted to peek in and see if she was asleep, I resisted the urge, positive that my mere presence would wake her up and out me as a perverted creep.

Though, asleep or not, I did still have a problem.

It is tough to describe just how useless my hands and arms were at that point in my life. The doctors told me that if I just burned them or just broke the bones it would have been a much easier process. However, because I did both I was rendered pretty much without the use of them.

I had taken to wearing a very loose pair of shorts during the daytime hours and going “Porky Pig” (shirt, but nothing on the bottom) at night. Because Andrea had been in the house, I had actually put on the shorts and a pair of underwear. It actually wasn’t that difficult to get them on, I simply put the two clubs of my arms in through the leg holes just enough to get them up past my knees and then shimmied on the rug until I got them approximately into place. I figured that to get them off I would just do things in reverse and, for the shorts, that was true. For the underwear it was a bit different. As they were so tight (boxer briefs) I literally found myself scooting around the rug like a dog trying to scratch its ass. During the entire charade the pressure on my bladder was practically becoming unbearable and I just could not get the underwear off. I was about to wet my pants for the first time since I was a toddler.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I froze to find a dreary-eyed Andrea standing in the doorway of the bathroom. She was wearing the same clothes I had seen her in all day and her eyes were puffy. She stood in silence for a moment before taking a few steps toward me.

“I’m here to help you, ya’ know?”

I bedgrudly grunted an okay and she helped me to my feet. She knew exactly what was going on. I rightfully felt like an idiot.

“So, what’s your deal? Just gotta’ pee?”

“Yeah,” I responded in a strained voice, “I really gotta’ go.”

“Sit or stand?”


“Do you want to sit or stand?”

“Uhm… sit, I guess.”

I had tried peeing while standing but found my “aiming” capabilities with my club-arms wasn’t the best. Sitting was the much safer option. Plus, I admit even as she pulled my underwear down for me, I was embarrassed to be standing in front of her.

Andrea stepped back and stood in the door frame going to her room. She had a bit of a lost look on her face. Not from being woken up, just her mind elsewhere. I didn’t know what to say.

I had stopped peeing but was just sitting there, not sure what to do.

“All set?”

“Uhm, yeah.”

“You sure you want your underwear back on?” Katie looked absolutely exhausted and it was obvious she just wanted to go back to bed. “It might be easier if you just leave them off.”

“Yeah. I normally do that. Not sure why I decided to go this route today.”

“Probably because I am here,” Andrea responded with a tired smirk. “You need help getting back into bed?”

Unfortunately, I did. My parents had taken to getting me under the covers and then I wiggled out of my shorts once in bed, but now, going back into bed with nothing on, I needed her help covering me up.

“Yeah,” I replied with a resigned sigh.

I got off the toilet and Andrea, without my preparation for it, grabbed a piece of toilet paper and wrapped it around the head of my dick, drying up the last drip that was inevitably going to come out. To say that I was ill-prepared for the sensation of a foreign hand on my penis was an understatement, I literally stopped in my tracks and lost my breath at the sensation.

“Didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” she said matter-of-a-factly. “I have only worked with older guys and not wiping means wet sheets.” She tossed the paper in the toilet and flushed it. “Better safe than sorry, you know?”

I just kinda’ blinked my approval, my overall reaction still one of shock. I literally could not move or react otherwise.

“So… bed?” Andrea had just finished washing her hands and acknowledged the fact that I had not moved in a few seconds and encouraged me with a gentle hand on my back to make my way to my bedroom. Once there, I crawled into bed and she covered me up just like any parent or nurse would do with someone in their care.

But she didn’t then just leave.

Andrea still had a lost look on her face and stared blankly at the poster-clad walls of my room before abruptly sitting down on my bed.

“I know this is going to sound weird but, would it be okay if I slept in here tonight?”

I didn’t know what to say, after all, we didn’t know each other and I had no pants on.

Andrea sensed my hesitation. “Sorry, it was a dumb ask,” she said as she began to turn around.

“No, wait,” I responded as I began to shift myself over to the far side of the bed. “Do you want to grab my shorts?”

“No difference,” she said as she began to crawl under the covers. “I’ve already seen you and think I am going to have to learn to trust you. Thanks for doing this.”

Andrea was out like a light.

I barely slept a wink.

I would have actually said that I didn’t sleep at all except for the fact that I did wake up at a certain point in the late morning. I turned to find that she had already left my bed and left my room. I was alone under the covers. And it was a good thing too, as a very familiar occurrence for guys my age was in full effect and I was sporting major morning-wood. Though, it wasn’t the end of the world. I stayed in bed for a while and let it go down a bit before determining that Andrea was not around and it was “safe” to get out of bed. Still groggy from a very poor night’s sleep I stopped in front of the mirror to admire the chub I still had dangling down by my legs.

“Impressive,” I said in a loud breathy whisper and gave myself a sleepy wink in the mirror.

I did a couple of hip thrusts in exaggerated fashion as I attempted to wake myself up for the day. It was kind of fun, actually, and it was nice to feel normal and in my male element after being a bit on edge the previous day, with Andrea and all.

“Typical morning workout for you?”

Her voice startled me to the point that I literally jumped in place, turning around to face her in a fighting stance. She had a smile on her face though the bags under her eyes and overall weary look that betrayed what appeared to be an attempt at energy and humor.

“I didn’t know you were up here,” I croaked out, my heart still racing.

“Yeah, kinda’ figured as much. Just checking in to see if you have any sort of morning routine for your business or anything.” She threw a thumb back over her shoulder into the bathroom.

“No, I’m good.”


She spun around and walked away and I, for a split second was able to catch my breath before she popped her head back out.

“Sorry if it seems like I am pestering you. Definitely not my intention. I have just noticed that some of the men I have worked with in the past have very defined schedules or need prodding to do anything at all. Then again, you aren’t 90.”

I chuckled and responded.

“No, it’s fine. I appreciate it. Sorry I have been acting so weird. You’re 20, right? It’s just somewhat strange to have someone helping me that is only a year older than I am.”

“Just turned 20, actually. I didn’t realize you were 19. When is your birthday?”

“4 months.”

“Wow, practically the same age. Makes sense. You are obviously not 90.”

I saw as she took a moment to size me up, taking a very obvious glance at my dick which, much to my dismay, had returned to its normal, flaccid size as opposed to my early morning chubbiness.

“Nope, not 90. Anyhow, thanks for the offer and I will try to be a more gracious patient for you.”

“Thanks. And, thanks for last night, letting me crash with you. I don’t know of any guys who would admit to it, but sometimes you just need to be with someone else, you know?”

“I get it. Any time.”

Andrea smiled and hesitated for a bit. I felt like she wanted to possibly just give me a hug but then remembered that I had no shorts on. Instead, after that brief hesitation, she turned and walked away. I hurried to the bathroom door and watched her make the final few steps into Tony’s… well, into her room. She was still wearing the baggy t-shirt but had taken off the sweats. Though I only caught a glance, she really had nice legs.


I retrieved the shorts I had wriggled out of the previous night and got them back on myself. Andrea was right, with having already seen me the night before, there was no reason to go crazy like the day before covering up but I still wasn’t crazy about always having my dong on display.

Making my way down into the kitchen I quickly realized that nobody was home. My parents were obviously at work and Tony had made his hurried escape obvious based on his standard mess left over the counters. Not able to get myself anything, I just sat there for a while.

… and sat.

I admit that I thought that Andrea was going to be following me downstairs, an assumption based on absolutely nothing. But when she didn’t come down after about 20 minutes and I started getting hungry I figured to go back and actually ask for some help.

The timing for walking into my room and peeking around, starting in the bathroom, was perfectly terrible. I had just poked my head in the door when Andrea stepped out of the shower, fully nude, onto the bathroom rug to grab a towel.

“Oh, shit,” I exclaimed, unable to control the verbal reaction.

“Oops,” Andrea said nervously as she quickly grabbed a towel and covered herself up, “I thought you were downstairs.”

I heard her, but had already scooted myself out of the doorway and into my room, my drained white face switching to burning red with embarrassment.

Andrea, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care. Though now wrapped in a towel, she stepped into my room and started a conversation.

“Sorry about that,” she said, “I should have closed the door.”

The confusion raced through my mind as to why she was apologizing when I was the one who walked in on her naked but I kept my mouth shut.

“Hopefully I didn’t scar you too much with the visual,” she said with a sleepy chuckle, “I am just so tired I’m not thinking straight. Under normal circumstances I might have even cared.”

I said nothing, like a deer in headlights. I just stood there and stared, mostly blank eyed, but also unable to get the flashes of her out of my mind. Andrea had only been in my house for 24 hours and I had already seen her naked.

… and she looked good.

She stood there for a second, just waiting for me to respond to her commentary but I couldn’t get words out of my mouth.

“I guess I should get dressed,” she finally said, breaking an awkward silence, and turned around and made her way back into her room. Though there was a very obvious lack of confirmation she was actually in her room as I never heard the door close.

Terrified I would run into her again, I didn’t dare to peek and see if it was open like I suspected. Instead, I walked quickly and silently through my room and made my way back downstairs, determined to wait out my shame.

Andrea came down a few minutes later. Her hair was still wet but she was now wearing yoga pants and a baggy long-sleeve t-shirt, pretty typical attire for someone her age though I could tell that they were not the fanciest brands or designer clothing and were more appropriate with what I knew of her economic background.

“You hungry?”


“What do you want?”

“Whatever you want to make. Your mom hated cold cereal because it would always end up all over me. Oatmeal is fine or, if you don’t mind cooking, I like scrambled eggs or any of the leftovers that may be in the fridge.”