Can I Change You?

^^^

"Frank, can I change you?"

The question caught me off guard and I responded, "Excuse me."

I didn't recognize the young fresh-faced woman. I put her age at eighteen or nineteen. She was wearing pink scrubs covered with cartoon pictures of cats.

The outfit I recognized. She was a CNA, a certified nursing assistant. They wear playful outfits. The cleaning crew's uniforms are covered in flowers, and the nurses wear single-color medical scrubs.

You learn these things when you visit nursing homes as often as I do. My mother and father have been in care for years. My mother passed away last year. It was a blessing. She suffered so much in her last few months.

My father, Frank Sr., is still going strong at eighty-two. I visit him once a week. Sometimes he recognizes me as his son. When he doesn't, I'm just one of the guys and we talk about sports, hunting, and fishing. If his favorite teams, the Eagles or Phillies, are on television, I sit and watch the game with him.

The people working at the home change often, but not the uniforms. It helps to know who does what so you can go directly to the right person when you need help.

If Dad spills his drink on the floor, I go find a person, usually a woman, wearing flowers. If he spills his drink on himself, a CNA will help him change his clothes. The nurses only get involved in important health-related matters, like pain management and handing out medicines.

As I mentioned, the staff turnover is high. I didn't recognize the cute slim brunette. She must be new. She didn't recognize me. I didn't hold that against her.

For my whole life, I've been told that I am the spitting image of my father and namesake. We have the same build. The same nose and eyes. Now that I'm fifty-eight, we have the same color hair: gray.

It doesn't help that Dad and I are partial to wearing plaid hunting shirts and jeans.

I wasn't offended that she thought I was my father. He looks good for his age. I don't. A life spent outdoors has taken its toll on me.

I own a landscaping business. My job takes me outdoors a lot. My hobbies do too. I hunt and fish. All that time in the sun has given me a weathered look.

So back to my story. When I responded to the eager teenager with 'Excuse me', she probably thought, 'This old man is deaf and, like half of the old folks in the facility, he's not wearing his hearing aids'.

So she spoke louder and said, "FRANK, YOU MAY NOT RECOGNIZE ME. I'M NEW. MY NAME IS JEN. CAN I CHANGE YOU?"

I was about to say something flippant like, "You can try to change me. The fact that I have two ex-wives argues that task is impossible."

Instead I thought, "What the hell? I'm going to have some fun." I nodded and shuffled toward her. I purposely stumbled. She gasped and reached out to steady me. I gave her an embarrassed smile.

She said, "Careful, Frank. Let's go to your room."

My father, Frank Sr., was outside sitting in the sun, baking his old bones, where I had left him, so I knew we wouldn't be disturbed. I asked, in a weak voice, "May I hold onto your arm?"

Of course, the sweet thing said yes. I put my right hand on her left forearm and we walked slowly to my dad's room. Sick bastard that I am, periodically I stumbled and used that as an opportunity to cop a feel. I pressed the back of my hand against one of her firm young breasts.

As I'd hoped, she was focused on keeping me from falling, and didn't object to a little 'accidental' contact.

She led me to my father's room and assisted me as I sat on the bed. She went to close and lock the door for privacy. While she had her back turned, I grabbed the vase off the nightstand.

That day, I'd brought my father a cutting off the large honeysuckle bush my mother had planted beside the house. She loved the fragrant flowers. The scent would come through the window above the sink and fill the kitchen.

Whenever the plant was in bloom, I brought him some of its flowers. I knew the smell would bring back pleasant memories of the home he shared with his wife of sixty years.

I poured water on the front of my pants. I was able to put the vase on the table before Jen turned around. She saw my wet pants. Gave me a tight lipped smile, and said, "Don't worry. I'll get you cleaned up. Stretch out on the bed."

I lay on the bed. She gathered her supplies: gloves, a diaper, wipes, etc. She put on a pair of blue nitrile gloves and undid my belt and jeans. She said, "Lift your butt for me."

I did.

She pulled my pants down and saw my wet underwear. She frowned and asked, "Where's your diaper?"

"I like these better."

"Frank, you need to use the diaper. If you had it on, your pants wouldn't have gotten wet."

I looked suitably chastised.

She removed my shoes, my pants, and my underwear. My limp dick was exposed. She was business-like as she said, "Roll onto your side and face the wall."

I rolled over and showed her my butt.

She placed a protective sheet on the bed. She tucked an edge under me. Then, she took a wipe and cleaned my backside. She was thorough. She scrubbed my buttock, delved into my crack, and rubbed my anus.

When she was done, she asked me to lie on the mat. I rolled over and she gasped, "Oh!" when she saw my erection. She was flustered and her face turned red.

I looked down and lied, "Gosh. I haven't had one of those in years." My voice was innocent and filled with wonder. I looked at her face and saw that she was uneasy.

I tried to allay her fears and said, in my most sincere voice, "I'm sorry, Jen"

"It's okay. In school, they told us this could happen. Actually, it will make cleaning your penis easier." She put on her game face and grabbed my shaft. She got a new wipe and moved my penis to and fro as she cleaned my belly, thighs, and testicles.

She grabbed a new wipe, held my shaft upright and stroked it as she cleaned it. I moaned. I moaned again when she cupped her hand over the tip of my dick and polished it.

Ever the professional, Jen ignored my reaction and did a thorough job.

"Jen, I apologize for my excited state. I'm as astonished by it as you are."

She looked me in the face, smiled, and said in a playful tone, "Boys will be boys."

I returned the smile and said, "Thank you for understanding. Ah...I've had some bad rashes down there. Do you mind applying ointment?"

"Not at all. My Dad always said, 'A job worth doing, is worth doing well'."

"My father said that too!" I responded brightly.

She smiled like we were old friends and asked me to roll over. I got on my side, she applied the ointment. I sighed silently as she rubbed my bottom.

"I'm embarrassed to say the problem area is in my crack and the tain't."

"Taint?" she said, confused.

"I don't know the proper medical term," I answered. I tried to sound embarrassed. "Tain't my ball and tain't my ass. The skin between my genitals and my anus."

"That's cute. I haven't heard that word before," she chirped. She didn't sound put off. She applied a coating to my butt crack, on and around my butthole, and to my perineum.

Jen did a bang up job. Her loving attention made my hard cock harder. When I turned over, she giggled. She stifled it quickly but I think she was amazed that my penis was still erect and it was bigger than before.

She gently applied the thick salve on my crotch. She was generous with the medicine when she did my thighs and balls. I may be fooling myself, but I thought there was a glint in her eyes and a hint of a smile on her lips as she stroked my fat shaft.

It might just be my imagination running wild, but I thought she was enjoying herself. Or maybe she was remembering when she beat off her boyfriend last Saturday night.

She only gave my shaft a couple of strokes, but that was enough for me. I'd touched her boob, showed her my penis, and she'd touched me intimately.

I came quickly like a pimple-faced teenage virgin.

"Ohhh!" I groaned as my dick exploded. Cum flew into the air. I closed my eyes, and focused on the waves of pleasure radiated throughout my body. In my mind I pictured Mount Vesuvius erupting.

"Ah!" Jen shrieked. She pointed my dick away from herself. Her learned reflex kicked in and she milked my cock. The spunk landed on my shirt and belly.

She caught herself, stopped stroking my penis, and released it. The last of my sperm oozed out of my shrinking prick and puddled on my gray pubes.

We looked into each other's eyes. We opened our mouths. I was going to apologize. I'm not sure what she was going to say. I think she, like me, realized there were no words for what had happened.

Neither of us spoke.

Jen got out the wipes and washed the cum off me. She tossed my shirt into the clothes bin with my pants and underwear. She put a diaper on me and dressed me in some of my father's clothes.

We exited the room and went separate ways. I went outside and sat beside my father.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"Meeting the staff."

He accepted my answer and we sat in the sun. Our quiet solitude was broken when a young woman called out, "What the...?"

I opened my eyes and saw Jen. She looked distressed. Her eyes flicked back and forth from my father's face to mine. She settled on me, and said, "Who are you?"

I stood, laughed gently, and said, "My name is Frank. This is my father, Frank Sr. I'm here visiting. Many people have told me that we look alike."

Her eyes focused on me. She said, "You let me change you!" The anger was evident in her voice.

"You asked politely. You said you were new. I figured you wanted to practice. You did a good job. You were kind, thorough, and professional."

"Grrrr," she growled. She was annoyed and angry. She grimaced and stomped her feet.

I came to her and handed her sixty dollars that I was carrying in my money clip. I whispered, "You have a great touch. There's more where this came from if you put a smile on my father's face."

A gave her a knowing wink, said goodbye to my dad, and walked away making a funny noise. My jeans rubbed on the diaper's outer plastic coating.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

The End