So my mother practically ordered me to go over to my great-grandfather's place and do him a favor. He's a nice old man, but he smells funny. Anyhow I locked my bike and went up to his apartment and knocked. The door clicked and I went in. It smelled of antiseptic or something, like Listerine.

He was sitting in a wheelchair with his right arm in a sling, his left wrist in a cast and one leg stuck straight out in front of him and a big bandage on his bald head.

"Hi, Julie," he said, "Haven't seen you in a coon's age. Think you're prettier than ever."

"What happened to you?" I asked, perching on a stool.

He smiled. "Fell down the, the blasted steps, that's what, just carelessness. Cracked my head. Lay out there for a couple of hours. Dislocated the shoulder, broke the leg and fractured my wrist. Damnfool thing to do; foot slipped."

"You hurting?"

"Not much. Got some pain pills. Guy from the hospital, sometimes it's a nurse, comes around almost every day and checks up on me. But I can get out of bed, get to the toilet. And I can pull on shorts but not my shirt."

He was bare-chested with a towel around his scrawny neck, and I noticed the frizzy white hair on his wrinkled body.

"Oh, and Meals on Wheels comes around most every day too and the lady downstairs visits sometimes."

"So how can I help you?" I asked.

"Well," he said with a smile, "You could sit there and let me look at you."

We both laughed.

"OK, two things. You can fetch my beer from the store on the corner. They won't sell it to you, but they'll let you carry it home. I paid them on-line, got an account there. Two six-packs, tain't too heavy. I usually buy a case so he gave me that price, nice guy."

I nodded.

He screwed up his face. "And, well honey, you can get me off, or at least help me. Fore this happened, I could usually do it with the computer porn and some hand friction, and I still have my left hand, least the fingers, but, I don't know, I can't get it up much less ejaculate." He grinned. "Think it might be broken."

I blinked at him and absorbed that, most of it. I felt a shiver.

"Understand?" he asked, smiling. "I need to do it every week to keep my prostate from making it awful hard to piss. Thing evidently swells up like an eggplant if I don't use it."

I blinked some more, and he looked worried. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Fifteen, why?"

"Thought you was older. You ever sucked a boy's cock?"

I froze and shook my head. The hair in my arms stood up. I had seen pictures, enjoyed daydreams.

"Damn!" he said,

"I've never even seen one," I said. "Not a real one."

"Well mine ain't very pretty, but it still works, sort of. Stuff just oozes out, semen, understand? Big globs. Seldom spurts, but that's enough to keep the pipes clear. Fraid you're gonna have to learn. I ain't got off since I did this, 'most two weeks ago." He started pulling down the zipper of his grungy shorts.

"Wait, why not ask my mother, your granddaughter?"

"I did and she said she'd send you. She's kind a'prudish, you know? Think she was a virgin when she got married. Come over here and kneel down, and I'll fish it out."

"You sure this is the only way?"

"Think so. You got any better ideas?"

I gulped and said, "I saw this thing, this gadget that looks like a big flashlight for men to, to you know, play with, stick their things in."

"Yeah, Fleshlight it's called. I've ordered one but it'll take two weeks to get here, and by then I'll have had a heart attack trying to urinate."

"Poor Grampa, but I've never even seen one, not a real one. I don't know what to do or anything."

He smiled. "Easy as pie. Look here." And he flopped out this long, flabby tube of gray and pink flesh with a blunt head that was kind of purple. It had a wrinkled sack behind it. The thing just lay there between his skinny thighs, its base buried in curly white hair and the mushroom head hanging over the edge of the chair. I made a face I guess.

He laughed and it jerked.

"Ew!" I squealed, and he smiled.