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From: One Gallus <onegallus@yahoo.com>
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
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<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
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