The Live-in Nurse and My Wife

It started with a really bad skiing accident. I broke my leg in several places and tore most of the ligaments holding my knee together. I was put in a hip-to-toe cast–a rotten souvenir of our vacation. On our return home, I found I needed a live-in LPN to take care of me. It had to be a strong man, since I am about 200 pounds myself and needed to be lifted from place to place. We also had to make a temporary bedroom for me downstairs, since I couldn’t manage the stairs. Being somewhat preoccupied with my own pain, I left it to my wife, Donna, to pick the LPN.


Somewhat to my surprise, she picked Tyrone. He is a tall, very well built, very dark African American. I was surprised because I always thought Donna was somewhat prejudiced and fearful of black men, and I didn’t think she would be comfortable with one in the house.


Our house is constructed in such a way, that with me taking over the downstairs family room, there really wasn’t any other place downstairs where it made sense for Tyrone to stay. We have an upstairs guest bedroom next to the master bedroom, and Donna put Tyrone there. I was in my wheelchair at the foot of the stairs as Donna led Tyrone up the stairs. She was wearing a very tight pair of white short shorts, high cut on her ass, and the lines of her thong were clearly visible underneath the fabric of the shorts. Tyrone, following her, essentially had his face even with her ass, and I could see him taking it all in. Donna seemed to walk slowly, and with a slightly exaggerated swing of her hips.

I got extremely jealous, particularly as I realized that they would soon be out of my line of vision and, if Tyrone did, in fact, try any funny business with my wife, I wouldn’t be able to defend her.


I needn’t have worried for her safety. They were hitting it off quite well. I heard much laughter, watched them as they walked by on the upstairs hallway, as Donna gave Tyrone the “tour” of the upstairs.

Donna is a blond, blue-eyed bombshell. A southern girl, she has always liked to flirt and be admired. I have encouraged her to wear clothes that accent her generous breasts, tight waist, round buns, and shapely legs. That day, in addition to the white short shorts, she was wearing a tight, sleeveless pink tank top that barely contained her breasts. As he followed Donna in the upstairs hallway, I could see the massive bulge in Tyrone’s pants, even from the distance of my downstairs wheelchair.

Tyrone was a good practical nurse for me. He could lift me easily, was friendly and outgoing, and hard not to like. The problem was that I had competition for his services. Donna was constantly near, and asking him for “help” with one thing or another. She decided to dust the corners where the walls meet the ceiling, and to change the ceiling light bulbs, and dust the ceiling fans. For each of these tasks, she stood on one of our kitchen stools, and asked Tyrone to stand underneath, steadying her by holding her ankles. His big black hands easily gripped and circled her calves.