I'd only been home from the hospital for a couple of weeks. Divorced for over two years now, I lived alone ... in a home that was far bigger than what I needed. I knew, especially now ... that in time I'd probably need to sell it, find a different place to live. But I had enough on my plate already, there'd be time enough for that when I got used to everything. If I ever did. You see ... I'd been in a car accident, and had lost my right leg just below the knee because of it.

I'd of course been given some help from friends and neighbors shortly after I came home. I guess it was pride perhaps, and hating to depend on anyone else aside for myself in doing things. But as I was still trying to manage my way around on crutches, I'd eventually given in and allowed a few people to help me out, in small ways at least. It would be a while yet before I could be fitted for a prosthesis, in the meantime, in was hobble, jump, or crutch myself along in order to do anything. Because of that, I'd become a virtual prisoner in my own house. That or lazy, however you want to look at it. I know that part of it was feeling sorry for myself. That and being angry at the dumb fuck that T-boned my car, severing my leg. The fact he died in the accident seemed unfair in a way, the way I looked at it. I found myself wishing I'd been the one who'd been killed, as opposed to trying to make my way through life at almost fifty, without the use of my leg. I know ... but that's how I felt at the time. And still did as I took in my surroundings and realized I needed to do something about my situation before the board of health came in and condemned my home. Ok, it wasn't that bad ... but it was getting there.

With the bedrooms on the second floor, along with the only full bath/shower room, it had become too difficult for me to try and hobble up and down the stairs all by myself. As such, I'd managed to convince a friend or two, to help me make things a bit more comfortable for myself on the main floor. At least here I had access to most of what I needed ... or wanted, and thus began making the best of it where I was. The couch became my bed of course, I hardly ever left it. Luckily, there was a small bathroom on this floor, though my bathing consisted of standing (or rather balancing) on one leg in front of the sink while I washed myself. I can't even remember the last time I had washed my hair, I guess when it started standing up all on its own, I'd do something about it. Until then...

And though the kitchen was on the same level, even hobbling around in there posed problems for me. Cooking anything that needed attention being paid to was out of the question. For now, I didn't have the stamina or the patience for that. Needless to say, my cell phone, the phone book, and various "take out" food joints became my primary staple as far as meals went. And with that of course, the ever-growing mess of discarded cartons, pizza boxes, empty sacks and the like that had begun to clutter up my world. I couldn't even take the fucking garbage out. Funny how the small things become monumental when you're still trying to learn how to pee while standing there on one leg. Sure, you can tell yourself it's not that hard, or that I should just sit down to pee. Which I did. But day in and day out of jumping on one foot down the hallway (no it was too big of a bother to try and negotiate my slick floors with the fucking crutches) sort of takes it out of you after a while. So then I started peeing in a large mason jar instead. Hell of a lot easier. Until I had stacked ten of them behind the couch full of piss. Now what?

It was time to get a maid. Someone who would come in and clean up after my filthy self. Someone who wouldn't mind emptying out mason jars full of piss hopefully. At least until I got a better handle on this missing leg thing. But at the moment, I was holding onto my anger, my "woe is me" attitude, and hating everyone around me that was still walking around on two good legs.

Life wasn't fucking fair. And since it wasn't, then whoever was unfortunate enough to come in and clean up after me, was just going to have to deal with it. At least I had plenty of money ... the accident, insurance policies, and one hell of a good attorney had seen to that. So whoever came in to pick up my messes would at least get paid well for doing so. I figured in doing that, they could keep their mouths shut and just do what needed to be done.

I searched through the ads looking for someone that was willing to come in once or twice a week. Oh yeah, and the last thing I wanted or needed, was someone who'd remind me of my mother. Or worse ... act like one. No, I wanted someone younger, willing to put up with my nasty old filthy self. Yeah I know, it was a lot to ask. But I was willing to pay for it too. Hopefully they'd even be good looking or attractive. Not that it really mattered, since the accident, the last thing I had on my mind was anything to do with sex. It was almost like I had lost my dick, and not my leg. Not that it really mattered. In a way ... I had.

After ruling out several possibilities, I ended up with only two possible choices that even sounded remotely close to what I was looking for. The first one ... no one answered, though I left a message. I then dialed the second number. On the third ring, someone finally answered.

"Hello?"

"May I speak with Karen? Karen Martial?" I asked.

"Sorry ... you must have the wrong number."

"Ok, thanks," I said hanging up, suddenly irritated. I could have sworn I had dialed the number correctly. I looked at the ad in the paper again, making sure of the number, and then redialed.

"Hello?" Came the same voice I'd heard only moments ago. I considered just simply hanging up, and almost did, until she spoke again. "Is this about the ad in the paper for the cleaning lady?"

I was surprised when she said that. That, and a little confused, especially if I did indeed have the wrong number. "Yes ... yes it is, but you said..."

"Yeah, the number listed was listed incorrectly so it seems. This is the third call I've received today from someone looking for a cleaning lady."

"Oh, well that makes sense ... sort of," I responded back. "I'm sorry to have bothered..."

"Funny though," she continued on interrupting me. "I've been looking for a part time job here myself ... maybe I should look into something like that. What're you paying anyway? And what all's involved?"

She sounded young, and interesting. I could almost see the smile on her face. I gave her a number, higher than I'd actually intended, but then gave her the bad news.

"Ok, that's doable. And as far as everything else goes you told me, we'll discuss that in detail after I get there. I'm sure we can come to some agreements," she informed me. "Is three o'clock this afternoon good for you then?" She asked. It was a little after noon now. I figured I could at least clean up a little. Not the room ... me.

"Yeah, three's good," I told her, and then gave her the address. Surprisingly, as it turned out, she only lived two miles away from where I did. "Oh yeah, I've been by there many times," she informed me. "There's that really nice bakery there on the corner of the street, just a few houses down from you."

There was, and I confirmed that with her, wondering then if perhaps I hadn't in fact run into her there before as I'd very often frequented the place myself. Up until the accident that is ... since then, the furthest I'd been was out on my porch a few times to pick up the paper. After hanging up with her, I managed to hop down the hallway to the bathroom where I proceeded to take a bath in the sink. At least I wouldn't smell bad, even if my hair was in fact starting to stand on end all by itself.

Tracy, as she introduced herself to me was a young, and rather attractive looking woman. I guessed her to be in her late twenties at the most. She worked part time as it was, doing some book editing, made decent enough money whenever she did that, but unfortunately, it didn't promise or guarantee her a steady income. Doing something in addition to this, on the side, would help her make ends meet a little easier. And it was something that she could manage to work both jobs around time-wise. Even though she rolled her eyes and almost covered her nose when she saw the conditions I was living in. I almost felt bad for the way things looked, especially as cute as she was. She wore her dark hair short, almost too short, but in a sassy, almost devilish sort of way, with the bangs far longer, and constantly falling over into her eyes where she almost continuously brushed them away. It was almost annoying, in a cute sort of way. She had nice tits too, or from what little I could tell anyway. But then again, I hadn't really been thinking along those lines recently, so even thinking the word "tits" was almost enough. Not like she was big busted, nor small. Probably average in proportion to her five and a half foot frame. I think her most striking feature to be honest about it ... besides her tits, were her almost gray colored eyes, that seemed striking, along with her delicate features, small nose, full sensual lips, and a dimple in the middle of her chin that became even more pronounced whenever she smiled. Though looking around the room at the moment, she wasn't doing much of that.

I had introduced myself to her as Jack, trying to make light of it. "Call me Jack," I had told her. "Not so nimble ... or quick," I had added. She ignored my comment however, along with my attempt at humor.

"First things first," she informed me. "I'll be back first thing in the morning to get this place back in shape again ... and then back the day after tomorrow to finish things up, and then begin working with you."

"With me? Regarding what?" I questioned.

"Getting you up and off your ass again for one thing," she announced taking me by surprise. Hell, I hadn't even officially hired her yet, and I was already thinking about firing her just for her attitude, tits or no tits. Though that's probably what saved her. She was cute, and she reminded me of me ... when I was about her age. Had the same kind of temperament I used to have, before the accident. Now ... not so much.

"You have any rubber gloves I can use?" She then asked.

"Maybe. If I do, they're under the kitchen sink," I informed her. She soon left, finding them, and then came back in, retrieving my collection of piss-filled mason jars. She then carried them two by two into the bathroom and emptied them into the toilet. When she was done, she carried them all outside to the trash, tossing them out.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, questioning. She just looked at me for a moment.

"You won't be using those anymore," she informed me. "You may look like a slob at the moment, and even act a little like one. But I know you're not. You're going to start using the bathroom again, just like everyone else does. And ... I'm going to help you in showing you how to do that, and make it easier on yourself."

Like I said ... if it hadn't been for her looks, and thinking about her tits, and that maybe I might actually get a peek down her blouse on occasion while she cleaned up the place, I might have sent her packing. But I didn't feel much like digging out the mason jars she'd just tossed either, so my choices were few and far between at the moment.

"And how are you planning on doing that?" I then asked sounding a bit gruff and put out with her.

"Well for one thing, my brother works for a hardware store nearby. Does a few odd jobs here and there on the side. I think you can afford to have some railings put up in the hallway here. Something to hold onto while you make your way down to the bathroom. So that's the first thing we're going to do, that ... and get some additional railings in your bathroom too."

"What's the second thing?" I now asked, surprised at her idea, but admitting it had some merit, and would make things a lot safer and easier for me.

"Getting you upstairs and into a bath, and then into a nice comfy bed for a good night's sleep for another," she then stated. "You stink."

"But ... but I took a bath, just before you got here," I told her.

"Washing your junk while standing in front of the sink, even if you did stand and do that, doesn't constitute a bath. You can't get to everything even doing that," she then added, though actually smiling again. Her dimple suddenly defusing my embarrassment, and irritation at being called a scum-bucket, even if I was one. "So, let me make a quick phone call to my brother, get things rolling there. After that, I'm going to help you upstairs to the bathroom and bedroom, and get you taken care of for the night. I'll be back first thing in the morning to get started on everything else. After that's done ... we'll see if my coming by two or three times a week will be sufficient. For a while I'm afraid, it'll have to be every day. At least until we've cleaned things up around here sufficiently for you to actually live here, and not in a pig-sty, and secondly, to see you start fending more for yourself than you obviously have been."

I had to glance at her tits once again to keep from saying anything. Funny what a combination of embarrassment, truth, and pride can do in getting in the way of things. Damn fucking confusing for one thing. But I had to admit, there was something about this girl I actually did like ... besides her tits.

"Ok, let's get you upstairs and into the bath. While you're doing that ... I'll get some fresh sheets on your bed. I'm sure you could use them. That ... and a change of clothes too no less."

Ok, she had me there. At the moment, all I was wearing was my old ratty bathrobe, and a pair of boxer shorts. And even then, I wasn't sure if I'd already turned them inside out or not. Don't laugh ... but it gave me an extra days worth of laundry. Yeah, I'd been doing those in the sink too. After all, the laundry room was down stairs. Go figure.

I stood there looking up the stairs. All twenty-two steps. It was like taking on Mount Everest. At least for me anyway.

"Just lean on me, I'll help you up," she informed me. Hell, I was twice her size, and weight. Well ... I used to be anyway. Amazing how much one leg actually does weigh when I later thought about it. But ... surprisingly, we managed. And she was a hell of a lot stronger than she looked too. And ok ... I sort of liked it when she put her arm around my waist to support me, and when I put my arm around her shoulder for support. I didn't mind the trip, or taking my time making my way upstairs and into the bathroom. Actually looking forward to taking a bath, though again, that fear came rushing back. Getting in and out of the tub wasn't going to be easy. She saw the look.

"I'll make sure my brother does something about this room too," she told me. "Now ... give me your clothes," she said as she began running me a bath.

"I'm sorry ... what?"

"You're clothes. You can't very well take a bath with your clothes on now can you? And you're going to need some help getting in and out of the tub. No room for modesty, or inhibitions now either. I've seen it before ... nothing is going to offend or shock me."

"No ... but I'll embarrass myself," I thought quietly. Talk about piss poor timing. I hadn't thought about sex in month's ... maybe even years, especially since my divorce. So here I am, not actually fully erect or anything ... but I was getting there. And here she was, waiting for me to take off my clothes. And me, still not remembering if I'd already worn my shorts more than two or three times already.

"Well?" She asked almost impatiently, folding her arms beneath her breasts waiting on me. "I haven't got all day you know," she then added making it even worse. She actually looked sexy standing there, even with a frown on her face, especially with her breasts suddenly jutting out, with her arms folded beneath them the way they were. And me ... sitting on the edge of the tub starting to get a "Willy". I took off the robe. And sure enough, my Johnson was sticking up through the opening of my shorts, well ... sort of anyway. I think it was as nervous as I was, but curious too. And of course ... she saw it. Her frown not quite so much a frown as it once was. Just a hint of an upturn to her lips, not so much as to call it a smile or anything ... more like a quirk. "And what the hell did that mean anyway?" I wondered.

"Make sure you wash that ... and your balls too," she informed me pointedly, once again taking me by surprise. "I can only imagine," she then said adding insult to injury as she bent over reaching for my shorts, pulling them suddenly down my legs. Thank god they were still reasonably clean.

I of course was speechless. Now sitting there naked in front of her, and yeah ... Willy was now one ... with a capital "W". And now she did smile, helping me to ease down into the tub. That deliciously hot tub full of water.

"You can relax ... after you wash up," she told me. "I'll be back in to get you, and finish washing you up, after I've changed the sheets on your bed." And with that ... she left.

"And finish ... washing me up?" I once again said aloud this time. "Jesus H!" I exclaimed looking down at myself. "You'd better be fucking gone by the time she gets back then," I added. And somehow knew ... it wouldn't be.

I had washed what I could ... what I could reach, though now sitting there annoyed and angry with myself. If you can only imagine ... I had actually reached down to wash what wasn't there anymore. How soon we forget. Though I know it had something to do with that phantom leg thing. I'd already reached down a number of times to scratch an itch on my foot that wasn't there anymore. Funny that. Not so much. But ... I was leaning back, relaxing now, even starting to doze off a little when she knocked on the door, and then walked in without my saying it was ok. Like I had a choice in the matter.

"Feel better now?" She asked waking me from my snooze. At least Willy was willy now, though she actually looked down directly at it. "And you did wash everything yes?" She asked.

"Yes," I said a bit harshly, not liking the assumption that I might not have.

"Good ... now sit up, and I'll do your back for you," she said coming over to sit on the side of the tub, taking up the wash cloth and soap as she began scrubbing me down. Surprisingly, that felt good too. Maybe it had to do with someone else's hands touching me ... even doing that. It had been after all, quite a while since anyone had. Far longer than I even cared to remember.

"That feels nice, thank you," I actually said, surprising us both perhaps, though she smiled at me upon hearing that.

"You're welcome. But tell me ... when's the last time you masturbated?"

I was sure I had soap in my ears and hadn't heard her right. There was no fucking way she had just asked me that, not right out of the blue, and not with me hardly knowing anything about her.

"I'm sorry ... what?"

"You heard me. When was the last time you even jerked off?" She asked again still washing my back, almost peering over my shoulder, though by now, I sort of had my hands in my crotch, as though attempting to keep little willy from hearing what it was she'd just asked me.

"Now listen here," I began, like I was suddenly going to stand up, get out of the tub and rush off.

She just shook her head. "That's what I thought," she said interrupting me. "No wonder you're acting like a grumpy old man. When was the last time you even did anything?" She asked once more. I think I swallowed my tongue though, no words would come, though my mind was actually trying to think far enough back the last time I had gone out and done anything.

"Maybe ... a year ago?" I actually stated.

"Holy shit!" She exclaimed. "No wonder you're feeling sorry for yourself then," she said hitting me between the eyes. "Tell me you at least were jerking off once in a while though ... until this anyway," she now said reaching down to actually place her hand on my knee, just above where the rest of my leg was missing. I flinched, splashing water on her, though she didn't really react to that, even though the white blouse she had on was now partially clinging to her ... to her breasts which I now realized, weren't encased in any kind of a bra either. I could now see the darker coloring of her nipples.

"Fuck!" I said, not even realizing I'd spoken aloud as she looked down at herself, saw what I was, and laughed.

"Well at least your still human ... but you didn't answer my question yet either. So ... when was it? A week ago? A month ago? What?"

And then I did something I hadn't done, not even since losing my leg. I started to cry.

When I felt her slide over along the bathtub I figured the bath was done, expecting her to reach out in order to help me stand up. She reached out ... but not in the way I was expecting. Suddenly, I sat watching as her delicate hand dipped between my legs beneath the water. I felt it as she wrapped her hand around my now very limp, very flaccid cock and began fondling it, very intimately, very softly. I looked up into her eyes, questioning, still unable to speak.

"Just relax, enjoy it ... it will make you feel a whole lot better," she said softly, reassuringly. Although startled, surprised at this unexpected show of compassion, I remained at a loss for words, now closing my eyes, sinking into the almost dreamlike eroticism I was now experiencing at the touch of her caressing hand. "By the way ... you really do have a nice looking cock."

The sound of her voice, her words once again surprising me. There was an edge to them I hadn't heard before, an excitement that was coming through as she spoke. I opened my eyes once again ... looking, even smiling a little as I glanced down at myself. I was hard ... very hard, and sat watching, feeling ... as her hand cupped, fondled, stroked and then teased my large swollen head. I was literally in heaven sitting here.

"God that feels..."