Message-ID: <26942asstr$972040204@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20001020032825.20789.qmail@web10301.mail.yahoo.com> From: One Gallus Subject: {ASSM} Swede Ola 1 of 3 (MF, rom, oral, intercouse) X-Original-Subject: Swede Ola 1 of 3 Date: Fri, 20 Oct 2000 07:10:04 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, IceAltar __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Yahoo! Messenger - Talk while you surf! It's FREE. http://im.yahoo.com/ <1st attachment, "Swede 1.txt" begin> {ASSM} Title: SWEDE OLA Part 1 Author: Gallus Long, galluslong@yahoo.com (MF, Rom, Oral, Intercourse) Disclaimer Not to be read: by anyone under the age of 18, or if it violates the standards or laws of your community, or if adult erotica offends you. Not to be posted on any other site, or changed, or used in any way without author's permission. SWEDE OLA Part 1 After Mother's stroke, she spent almost three months in a nursing home in rehab unit, never fully recovering her speech nor the use of her hand and leg. During that time, Medicare took care of her expenses. At the end of those three months, they would no longer pay the nursing home bill. My mother had a balance of $48,963.44 in her bank checking. My goal was to spend all that money (to her benefit) until she had nothing but a pittance left. Medicaid would then start paying the bills. I had to make a decision either to keep her in the nursing home, or bring her home to live with me. She naturally preferred the latter. I was willing to do that, though I knew it would change the use of my time drastically. But I was widowed and the only occupant of my home. Because I work out of my home (I am a writer) I could be accessible to her needs. The house was quite spacious, with a couple of unused bedrooms, so there was no reason, except for inconvenience, that I should refuse to provide Mother with a more fulfilling finale to her life. However, I could not accomplish this on my own. Mother was confined to a wheelchair, or to a bed, and I could not lift her, being cursed with at least two herniated spinal disks. Also, Mother was very modest, and both she and her son would have been very apprehensive about her bathroom issues. As much as possible, I wanted to maintain the privacy and the dignity I knew she treasured. So, I decided I would hire someone to come into the home and help me. As the three-month rehabilitation experiment entered its final thirty days, I discussed my plan with Ola, an aide at the nursing home. I always visited there at the noon hour to feed mother and had developed an easy friendship with several of the aides, and in particular, this lady in her middle forties. She was feeding several other patients in the day room, moving from one to the other, keeping an eye on everyone. I took note of the tender way this big woman treated each of her charges. I was well aware how she and her co-worker, Betty, had helped mother and me adjust to the strangeness of a nursing home situation. I wondered what I might do to show my appreciation to them before I moved mother to my home. "Ola, you know, you are a very unusual person? You've really helped us get adjusted here, and one of the bright spots of my day is just to come down here at noon and visit with you and Betty for an hour while I feed Mom." "Why thank you, Charles," she smiled. "We don't get those kind of compliments everyday." "Well, you should, and I was just sitting here thinking, `I have to say something to this girl before I move Mom.'" "You're moving your Mom?" she asked. "Yep, Medicare is running out, I have to do something." Ola thought a moment. "But, are you sure you'll be able to handle it, Charles?" I had known her for two months now, and at first she called me Mr. Renfro, but I insisted on "Charles" with her and Betty. A few of the aides, hearing my first name, came to call me "Chuck." Ola never presumed on that familiarity, and I was glad, because I deplored the nickname. "I believe we can make it OK. I have to advertise for a helper, but I think, with that, I can manage." "Too bad you didn't talk to Betty, she's to take care of a patient in his home." Betty was a plump, pleasant woman who, like Ola was in her 40's. "Really? That would have been ideal. With all the experience she has, I'm surprised the home would let her leave." I said. "I think they would rather hire new help at a cheaper wage than pay the veterans what they're worth," she said, and put down a patient's spoon on a tray. She leaned back in her chair, and sighed. I took her measure with my eyes. Ola had to be 6 feet tall or more, since her eye level was just slightly below mine when we stood. I was 6' 2". She must have weighed close to 200 pounds because her proportions were only slightly smaller than my own, and I weighed 240. The weight in her large shoulders and breasts no doubt accounted for a more sculpted waistline than I possessed, though at age 60, I didn't look bad at all. She was dressed in her usual loose blue uniform. It had to be a XXL size. I remembered the first day when I shook hands with Ola. Her hands were thick and strong, like a man's hands. I'm not sure I could have won a gripping contest with her. I pushed my mind back on topic. "Gee Ola, Betty must forced to take a loss if she goes for private care." "A little, but it's worth it just to get out of the chaos around here." She lowered her voice, "They don't have enough good help, Charles, and the load falls on people like Betty and me. We feel like we have an important job to do, but a lot of girls don't." She looked directly at me over her high cheekbones. Today, her mane of smoky blonde hair hung free, flaring out all around her face in a long, loose, beautiful fall, ending somewhere below her shoulders. In my opinion, a large woman does not usually look good in long hair, but Ola was an exception. And when she pulled it back over her ears, and plaited it into a single braid to hang between her two massive shoulders, she looked like a Nordic goddess. All she needed was a horned helmet. "Come to work for me," I said, also keeping my voice low. "Really?" she said, with a broad smile that drove her lofty cheekbones to look even wider. "Sure, You know Mother, she loves you, and you know she's not demanding. You could come in mornings, get her up and ready for the day. Then you'd be relatively free till about 1:00 or 2:00. Then, I'd need you to stay around till her bedtime." "Hummm, that splits my day up," she thought out loud, "but that's not as bad as working doubles. How much will you pay?" "How about $8.00 and hour, eight hours a day," I said, but I can't pay your health insurance. "My Ex pays that," she said. "You don't have children and home, do you?" I asked. "No, I have a daughter in her first year of college, that's not a problem. Gee it would be a nice break away from here, let me think about it, Charles. If I do it, I don't want you to mention it to the nursing home, now or later." "OK, but I only have a month to go here, so I need to advertise for help. If you think you can't do it, let me know soon, OK? And I won't put it in the paper." I gave her my phone number. I went home elated. Out of all the workers at the nursing home, I liked Ola best of all. The possibility that she might be spending a good deal of her time in my home was a happy prospect for me. Then the prospect turned to reality, and Ola came to work for me the very week that Mother was discharged. Instead of having to call an ambulance for the transfer home, Ola lifted Mother to a standing position, pivoted her, and sat her down in the wheel chair with ease. Then just as easily, she put her into the car, and took her out again. She made the task of pulling Mom's wheelchair up the three front-steps look easy. Within an hour-and-a-half of being home, Ola had fed Mother her lunch, put her to bed, and changed her diapers. Mother couldn't talk because of her stroke, but her smile said it all. She was pleased to have the best worker in the nursing home as her own private aide. With Ola around, I was able sit down immediately in front of my word processor, and lose myself in the first love of my life, writing. After awhile, Ola knocked on the door of the forth bedroom, my home office. "Charles, Helen is used to eating at six. We haven't talked about it, but it's no trouble to fix supper for you as well as her." I looked at the clock and couldn't believe it was 4:30 in the afternoon already. "Well, that would be great for me, Ola, if it's not trouble for you. Fix enough for yourself too, we'll all eat together." Her slanted blue eyes sparkled as she smiled. I walked back to the kitchen with her and oriented her the layout of the cabinets and the pantry. I did a lot of my own cooking, so quite a lot of food had been stored in the refrigerator and of course, in cans and boxes. At 6:15 Ola knocked again on my door, and smiled, "Dinner is ready, Charles." When I walked into the kitchen, I saw Mother sitting at the end of the table, smiling, her hair styled, her fingernails clean, and in familiar territory, I was overjoyed. I sat at the other end of the table, and sat in between, able to take care of mother and pass me the serving-bowls at the same time. After we were seated, she offered me her left hand, and gave Mother her big right hand. "I always say the blessing before a meal," she said, "Is that all right with you, Charles?" "Why yes it is, Ola," I said, and bowed my head. She shut her eyes and bowed her head, and there followed a long silence. "Amen," said Ola, and then she squeezed my hand. It was strange, I could tell how strong she must be by how tightly she didn't squeeze my hand. I knew there were reserves of power there, and I thought how dangerous it would be to get into a physical altercation with this wonderful specimen of womanhood. For dinner there was pork chops, baked in tomato and bell pepper gravy, mashed potatoes and green beans. I had never tasted chops fixed this way before and it was delicious. I praised her cooking expertise and she blushed and smiled. This lady was not used to compliments. After dinner, I wheeled Mother into the living room and we watched television while Ola cleaned up the kitchen. I sat so I could see her, and caught glimpses of her quick strong movements in the kitchen. It seemed strange not to see her in her baggy uniform. Today she wore jeans, a blue striped shirt, tucked in, and her ever-present white running shoes. The jeans were tight around her hips and her ample bottom flared out to accommodate her large, hard thighs. I could see the muscles rippling beneath the denim. "Ola," I called to her, "It looks good to see you in something besides your uniform." "It feels good too, that uniform made me look like an elephant!" she said. "I assure you, Ola, you've looked like an elephant to me," I said with a cocked eyebrow. She laughed and blushed. At 7:30 mother became sleepy and Ola wheeled her back to the bedroom and put her to bed, leaving me on the couch. At 8:00, she gathered up her things and made ready to go, standing in front of me with her purse dangling from her hand. "Well, I hope it wasn't too hard a day for you Ola," I said. "Oh, not at all Charles! It was like heaven compared to the nursing home." "Well, come on back to heaven in the morning then," I smiled, and in the next moment she was gone. The next morning, Ola showed up at 8:00 AM. As I opened the door for her, I noticed her little Ford Escort sitting at the curb. The back was piled with boxes up above the level of the windows. "Why don't you pull your car up in the driveway, Ola. I'd feel safer if you did." She smiled and said, "OK," and moved the car. I pressed the button on the automatic door and it rose to reveal her large body, again with jeans and in a sweatshirt emblazoned with, "Maumee Community College." In spite of the fact that this was summer, this was northern Ohio, and occasionally, temperatures had been known to fall into the low fifties in the mornings and at night. She shivered a bit as she waited for the door to clear her 6-foot frame, then walked in with a smile, showing a perfect line of white teeth. She changed Mother's diaper, got her situated in front of the television, fixed Mother's breakfast and fed her. Then Ola left, and came back one o'clock. Again she rang the front doorbell and as I opened the door, I gave her my extra garage door remote and said, "Here, mi casa, you casa." She dazzled me again with her wide smile and said, "Thanks Charles, you're very kind. I want to take Helen for a walk today and give her a bath this afternoon." "Good idea!" I said. I retired to my computer and set to work, falling into my writer's trance, where I am seldom aware of the world around me. I was distracted from this by the sound of the shower being turned on in the bathroom just down the hall. I got up and went to the open door and Ola was there, leaning into the shower stall. She backed out and saw me. "Just letting the water run warm, she said." A portable heater on the floor was glowing red and had already warmed up the room. Ola's face was flushed red. She still had on her sweatshirt and I could see the moisture darkening the armpits. With an "Excuse me," she walked passed me into Mother's bedroom and came back, wheeling her along. Mother had a sheet draped around her. "Hi Mother!" I said. Mom smiled at me and then looked toward the beckoning warmth, obviously anticipating it. "I will leave it to you girls," I said, and went back to my office. After I sat for a moment, I thought of Ola's flushed face and evident discomfort in the heat of the bathroom. Obviously, she should have dressed cooler for such a task, but now that she was here, what could she do? Then I thought of my own underwear drawer and the stack of XXL tee shirts inside. I retrieved one and carried it to the bathroom and opened the door. Mother had already been placed inside the shower stall, which was open, but not in my line of view. What was in my line of view was Ola. When she turned toward the door, I saw that she was stripped to the waist. Sweat sparkled on her strong, broad shoulders and magnificent breasts, large and firm. Her face was flushed red, but it had been before, so I couldn't tell from the hue of her skin if she was embarrassed or not. Nor could I tell from her demeanor, because there was no move to cover up, no effort to hide, and no shocked expression. "Here," I said, and held out the tee shirt. "I thought you could use this." She smiled, and stepped forward and took it from me. "Thank you Charles, I dressed too warm for this kind of work today. I think I'll just put it on afterward." As I went back to the office, I was led along by a lengthening erection. "When did that start?" I ask myself. I caught glimpses of Ola in my tee shirt later than day, but stayed pretty close to my desk. By dinner time she had changed back into her sweatshirt, and I wondered as I took her hand while she prayed, if her breasts were now encased in a bra, or if they hung free. In either case I said "Amen," and we ate Swedish Meatballs, very large ones, that night. END OF PART 1 <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+