
Deb planned to leave me in the hands of Ronni for the evening, admonishing Ronni that if she needed help to call her, or if needed, 9-1-1. I requested to be helped to my recliner. I figured that it was as comfortable as the bed, and at least I would be in the middle of the house instead of stuck in a room off to the side. The three of us managed this task without much more than the expected trouble and I kicked the chair back to elevate my feet. Ronni passed me the remote control or the TV and I turned it on as Deb departed.

The door closed. Ronni was sitting on the sofa next to my chair. She was close enough for my hand to touch her if I reached in her direction. I leaned my head back against the chair's headrest and sighed.

Ronni immediately perked to attention. "D'ya need anything, Mister Dave?"

"No," I said, "well, yeah, Ronni."

"What?" she questioned.

"I need you to drop the "Mister" part. Save some words..."

"Okay, but I was being polite."

"And I KNOW you're polite. And I appreciate it, but if you're gonna spend time here..."

"Okay, I don't mind. Makes you sound, well, different, you know. Like, "Mister Dave" is Mom and Dad's friend. Just plain "Dave" is mine."

"I'm glad you're my friend. You've been a big help already. I know you were the first to get to me..."

"What was I supposed to do? Jump up and down and scream like a silly girl?"

"I never thought of you as silly. You've always been pretty level-headed for your age. Even when you were seven. I'm glad you got there. It was surreal, opening my eyes and seeing you holding me together."

She smiled. "Thank you. I was scared shitless. Your head was covered with blood and your arm was spurting blood and your leg was bent funny. I thought the best thing I could do was hold you up until others got there. You were a mess."

"Still am," I said. "Have you seen my head with the bandages off?"

"Uh-huh. Looks like you got the mange where they shaved you to stitch you up."

"Sounds attractive," I said. "There goes my summer employment as a male model." That comment got me some giggles. I always did like hearing her giggle, even when she was seven. I turned my head to see her smile. "Thank you," I said. "I love to hear you laugh."

"Dave," she said, "You've been making me laugh and smile for ten years. Thank YOU!"

"Ron," I said. "You can go home for a while if you want. I'm gonna be okay here. All I'm doin' is watchin' TV. I'm good for an hour at least."

"I don't need to go home, Dave. I brought a change of clothes and my nightshirt and a book. I think I'd feel better if I just stayed with you." She smiled.

"Okay then, babe," I said.

She caught that. "BABE? You called me "babe"?"

"Sorry. It just slipped. Friendly term, that's all..." I back-pedaled.

"No guy's ever referred to me as "babe", Dave."

"Then it's a sad sample of guys around you, Ronni."

"I'm pretty sure it's a representative sample, Dave. I'm too tall and my hair's just brown and my eyes are just brown and I don't have one of those figures that guys drool over."

It occurred to me at this time that just perhaps those painkillers were reducing my judgment a bit. This was a conversation presenting ideas that existed in my head. I was Ronni's next-door neighbor and almost like an uncle or a big brother, almost twenty years her senior in age. I'd watched her grow and she never did shed the tom-boy shtick. Her extra-curricular activities in high school included girls' sports, volleyball, softball, that sort of thing, and from her and her parents' reports and my own observations, she was pretty good. I didn't however, see a parade of guys coming to take Ronni out.

I knew Ronni's report card was good, too, and some of that was my fault. She'd long ago learned that her mom and dad's academic skills weren't always up to helping too much on high school work, especially math, and I'm proud to say that I was her choice for help. Being single and alone, I was a constant invite to every event in her life, including many of her sports adventures. I was the oddball "team parent" because I was there when her own dad was off working out of town or overseas. But I never felt like Ronni's parent. I always felt like I was just privy to the life of a delightful young lady.

And in all those experiences, apparently there were some feelings that were being exposed by the application of prescription drugs. But the exposure was inside my head, I thought. Except I'd just uncorked the bottle.

"Don't worry, Ronni," I said. "Somewhere along the line the right guy will learn about you and find you perfectly gorgeous."

"Most of 'em think I'm a lesbian," she said.

This was much further into this line of conversation than Ronni and I had ever been. Sure, we talked. You don't coach a kid through high school math and science and English and social studies without talking. I knew she was a great talker, and I liked to think that I might have had a bit of the credit for her vocabulary and conversational skills. But our talks to this point had never strayed into her personal life, other than her opinions about her teammates and teachers.

"Why?" I asked. I was already part-way to the answer. She confirmed with that supposition with her first statement.

"Because I play sports, and you know, EVERYBODY knows that girls that play sports are all big lezzes. Unless they're big sluts to show they're not big lezzes."

"They used to say the same thing when I was in school, Ronni," I said. "And it was stupid, then, too."

"But... I'm not a slut, either, so according to the formula, I must therefore be a lez. I mean, I've gone out on a couple of dates, but they weren't much. You know, movie and dinner at the mall food court."

"Nothing wrong with that, Ronni." I took a deep breath and dove off into the subject. It must've been the drugs. "A lot of people get confused about the difference between sex and love and end up with everything from regret to babies."

"I know," she said. "I know three girls in my class this year that had babies, and I've heard that there were a bunch who got pregnant and got abortions."

Yeah," I said, "And that's just the physical side of things. No matter what they say, most people don't want sex, they want love, and even if one partner is thinking "No strings attached", there's a pretty good chance that the other one is HOPING that there is a connection that lasts longer than the physical connection."

"I think I believe that, Dave," she said.

"I think a lot of people believe it, Ronni, but they go jump off into something anyway."

"And they get messed up." Ronni's voice carried a sound of surety.

"Yeah," I said. "And usually it's the girl. Guys are notorious about using girls, but some guys get messed up, too. Getting used is no fun. I know."

"Your divorce?" she said.

"Yeah, that. And a couple of tries after that." I sighed. The divorce. Not a pleasant thing. "Don't get me wrong, Ronni, because there are two sides to every story, but finding out one day that your wife thinks the grass is greener with an old high school boyfriend... And tearing your life in half. That's painful."

"You never talked with me about it, Dave," she said.

"Why would I? You were a kid. And it's an adult thing."

"I understand. But now we're talking about relationships. And I'm seventeen, and SOMEBODY oughtta talk to me about this stuff," she huffed.

"It's your mom's place. And your dad's."

"They kinda do talk about it, but I learn a lot by watching them. Especially with Dad having to go work like he does. But they seem to hang in there."

"They do, don't they?" 

It was true. Ronni's dad was a specialty welder and in constant demand for his skills with exotic metals and techniques. He was often on the road, sometimes for a week, sometimes for a couple of months, and Ronni's mom was faithful, always waiting when he got back. I filled in for many "man around the house" functions while Alex was gone, but only as a handyman. Rena, Ronni's mom, was a gem. One of the side benefits of my relationship with this family was that I was a frequent invite for backyard parties and barbecues and home-cooked meals, and of course I had Ronni as a friend.

"Seeing your mom and dad makes me kind of jealous," I said.

"She's tried fixing you up, Dave," Ronni said.

"I know," I said. But I'm picky. You know how I am about my music and my reading and stuff like that, and I don't want to marry somebody who's not compatible. And a lot of divorced women have a lot of baggage. It's back to that "getting used" thing. I... It just has to be right, Ronni. And you know old man Bailey next door?"

"Yeah, I know him. Nice old man. His wife makes cookies."

"Yeah. Good cookies, too. But he and I were talking over the fence one day and he said, "Dave, I'm not meaning to be nosey, but are you one a'them gay people?". I think he meant well, but was just curious since Trish left and there's not a parade of women out of the door of a single guy."

Ronni laughed. "Oh, that's just great. Here we are, the lez and her gay neighbor..."

"I'm not gay, Ronni," I said.

"I didn't think you were, Dave. But I ain't a lez, either, you know... but it's funny..."

And there was a knock on the door. Ronni bounced up and opened it. I heard her say "Hi, Mom! "

And Rena's voice. "Is he awake? Can I see 'im?"

"I'm okay, Rena. Come in!"

Ronni escorted her mother into the house. Rena was carrying a pot. "Chili," she said. "Your recipe. You can eat with one hand."

"Oh, wonderful," I said. "My first meal since the hospital."

"Ronni can help you eat," Rena said.

"Rena, I want to thank you for loaning me Ronni. She's been a jewel."

Rena smiled. "I couldn't stop her, Dave. You know how she is. You're her buddy. And you always help us out. How're you feeling."

"Like I got run over by a truck."

"Dave! That's horrible." She chuckled. "But I guess horrible jokes are a good sign."

"I hope so. How's Alex?" 

He was out of town for a couple of weeks on a project, leaving a couple of days before I returned from the hospital. Those things brought in good money, even if it was in intermittent lumps.

"He's doin' fine. He said tell you he hopes you do okay, Dave," she said.

"Good," I said.

"Ronni," I said, "are you going to help me eat this?"

She smiled. "Sure, Dave," she said.

"Uh, hon, that's 'Mister Dave'," Rena corrected.

"Oh, Rena, I told her to cut the "Mister" part. She's old enough. And she's been by me for the last week."

"Uh, okay, Dave. I just don't want her being impolite."

"Ronni? She's the most polite young lady I know of. And I'm lucky to be her friend."

Rena looked at Ronni, then me. "Well, she practically demanded that we let her stay here to take care of you, you know..."

"I didn't know."

Ronni interrupted, "Well, you needed somebody, and Mizz Deb can't be here all the time and I'm convenient..."

And I finished her sentence. "And like my best friend in the whole world."

Ronni smiled. So did her mom.

And Ronni finished, "And this is what I want to do." And she smiled sweetly with that crooked smile that was completely unique to Ronni, and that I'd enjoyed for a decade.

Rena asked Ronni, "Baby, is there anything else you need?"

"No, ma'am," Ronni answered. "I brought a change of clothes and my nightshirt so I can stay here tonight." She looked at me with an expression that I couldn't quite decipher.

Rena got up to leave. "Okay, then, baby. Take care of Dave." She looked at me. "You're in good hands, Dave. See you in the morning, okay? I'll bring over some breakfast."

"Thanks, Rena," I said. "I owe you big time."

"No you don't, dear. We're neighbors. For all the times you've helped when Alex was out of town and all... and it's what neighbors do."

“Okay, lady," I said. "And thank you for loaning Ronni to me."

Rena tittered. "I'd be careful about that, Dave. You know how if you feed a stray cat long enough, it moves in..." and on that note the door closed behind her.

And there was a cat-like grin on Ronni's face. Make that a Cheshire cat.

Ronni pulled a TV tray and a chair up next to me and spooned her mom's chili into my face, alternating it with sips of lemonade, and that was dinner. Quite satisfactory, especially after a week's worth of bland hospital fare. She left me for a few minutes and I heard kitchen noises, then she came back and ate her own bowl of chili beside me as we watched a movie on TV.

"When you finish, babe, I'm gonna need to go to the bathroom."

"Okay, I figured it wouldn't be too long."

"No hurry, though."

"Oh, I'm not hurrying. And you're gonna need a sponge bath, too. It's been a couple of days."

"I know," I said. "I feel sticky."

"I guess you do. We'll do the best we can. The doctor said that after you've been in that splint thing for a couple of weeks you can take it off long enough to get in the shower. Until then, though, it's gonna be me or Mizz Deb." She smiled.

"You're okay with that?" I asked. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I mean, you don't have to..."

She gazed at me like I had a horn growing out of my forehead. "Dave," she said, "We're both adults here. And this is purely clinical. I've already helped at the hospital so I know what to do. And so now I've seen... you know..."

I still had some trepidation. "'Cause if you want, we can get Deb..."

Giggle. "Now THAT'S kinky! You'd rather your SISTER wash you than ME!"

"I don't want you scarred for life, smart-ass," I retorted.

"Thinking about you and your sister might REALLY scar me..." she giggled.

"Alrighty, then, baby doll, I'm all yours," I said. Her face flashed a strange look before settling onto a laughing response.

"Be nice," she chuckled. "I know where your ice-maker is..."

"You wouldn't do that to a poor ol' cripple now, would you?"

"Only if I'm forced to..." Her eyes twinkled. "Let me get this stuff put up, then we'll get you to the bathroom, okay?"

"Okay," I said. "And I can hear the icemaker..."

Giggle. She got up and did more kitchen things and I heard the dishwasher start up. She was back in front of me, lowering the footrest of my recliner. Getting me up was a bit of an exercise punctuated by a couple of painful events as I worked out what I could push and pull with, but finally I was vertical and leaning against her. She reached for the wheelchair.

"I think that's more trouble than it's worth," I said.

"Humor me," she countered. "Give yourself time." She helped me ease back down into the wheelchair and pushed me to the bathroom. It was another battle to get me onto the toilet. She unsnapped my hospital pajamas and I wriggled so she could get them from underneath me. She was kneeling in front of me as she did this, and I could only imagine what she saw as the pajamas came loose. "Clinical" she said earlier.

The aftermath was more titters as she tried various approaches to basic sanitary needs. Finally I said, "If I can just lean on you to the left, I think I can do that myself." I waved my right hand.

"Oh, okay, I like that better," she said. "It's different when it's a one year old..." her eyes connected with mine. "MUCH different."

"Sorry," I said. "You have no idea how embarrassing this all is. I hate being helpless."

"Oh, get over yourself, Dave. We gotta do what we gotta do. And I'll be okay..."

"At least you're not rolling on the floor laughing."

That got laughter and a smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Dave. I'm an innocent young girl and I have no point of reference whatsoever." And she stuck her tongue out at me.

"Oh my goodness. I fear that I am in the clutches of a smartass."

"Clutches? That's a good one. Just keep it in mind, mister," she giggled. "Now, while we're all worked up an' everything, you want to do your sponge bath?"

"As long as I don't hear the icemaker," I laughed.

She maneuvered me back into the wheel chair then spread towels on my bed before we strained and grunted me back onto the bed. The next step was her appearing with a basin full of warm water, some soap, and a washcloth.

Now up to this point I was still pantsless from the bathroom trip, but the hem of the pajama top was mercifully long enough to cover my crotch. But the top had to come off. And Ronni was unsnapping the sleeve to get it off my damaged arm. And Ol' Pokey was there in open view.

She stood back to admire her handiwork. That pajama top was off, the special snaps allowing it to be removed without resorting to pulling it over my arms. "There," she said. "I can throw that one in the laundry when we finish and put you on a fresh one. Now be a good boy and let's get you all clean." She draped a towel over my crotch. "Decorum must be maintained," she commented.

I enjoyed her touch as she carefully washed my arms and chest and pits and both my hands. She regarded my face. "I... uh you NEED a shave..."

"I am going to have some trouble doing that, Ron," I said.

"I'm scared to do that," she admitted.

"Why? Don't you shave your legs?"

"Uh-huh," she admitted.

"Same thing, babe," I said. "The razor and shaving gel is in the bathroom. It's best to do it while my face is still damp."

"Okay. I'll try. But I'm not promising much." She left and came back, and in a few minutes, with surprisingly few "Ouch!" and "Oops!" sounds, I FELT like I was shaved. Giggle. "You're not even bleeding that much..." giggle. "At least compared to the other day..."

I laughed with her.

"Now roll over on your stomach," she said. She assisted me with that move and then washed some more. "Okay, that's done," she said. As she rolled me over onto my back again, her eyes connected with mine. "Well, buster, it's TIME. Lemme go change the water."

I was laying on my back, naked except for soft casts on my left arm and leg, and the hand towel she'd draped over Ol' Pokey. She came back in. "Here we go," she said. She looked into my eyes as she slipped the towel away. And began a very workmanlike and technical cleaning. No giggles, no titters, no "Ewwwww!" (fortunately). She washed everything as if she had been doing exactly this sort of thing for years.

"Just like a baby," she said. "Except more of it." Of course. Ronni was a sometimes babysitter.

"Just curious, though," she said. "I didn't know guys shaved there. I mean, I've heard of girls, you know, that bikini problem, but guys?"

"Uh... I dunno how many other guys do, but I like how it feels cooler and cleaner." That was a little embarrassing. I didn't say that it was something started by my ex-wife and I liked the habit. And further, Ol' Pokey knew we were talking about him and he stood up.

Her eyes widened. "Uh, no baby ever did THAT."

"Sorry,' I said. "Sometimes it has a mind of its own. I didn't do that on purpose." And the embarrassment made Ol' Pokey lay down.

"I'm sorry, Dave. I just didn't expect it." She looked at me. And there was a light sprinkle of perspiration on her forehead.

"That's what I was worried about, Ronni," I said. "I'm hopelessly normal and there are such things as reflexes. That's one of 'em. And I never meant to embarrass you."

"Uh, no, Dave... I shouldn't be embarrassed. I've been kind teasing and playing, and then when there it is... Well, it startled me."

"Sorry." That was all I could think to say.

Ronni, on the other hand, had shifted modes. "So, is that normal size?"

"What?"

"Simple question. Is it normal size?"

I was a whopping six inches. "Yeah, pretty much normal."

"Oh. Okay. I mean, since I SAW it, I thought I'd ask."

"Well, it is..." Now I was the one feeling the flush of my face turning red.

"Oh, now YOU'RE embarrassed, Dave. I'm sorry."

"Oh, just help me get my pajamas on." I paused. "Pants first."

She giggled. A little bit of wiggling and a few groans later, I was again chastely clad in convalescent pajamas.

"Wanna go back in the living room?" she asked. "That way I can straighten the bed and then take my shower. Okay?"

"Sure, babe," I said. We worked me off the bed and back into that wheelchair, and then reversed in the living room to put me back in my recliner.

Once I was situated, she asked, "Comfy, now?" 

"Yes, Ronni. Thanks."

"Oh, poo!" she laughed. "thank you." And she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

"What's that for?" I asked, startled. No, it wasn't the first kiss I'd ever gotten from Ronni. I could remember a few dozen pecks over the years from an excited little girl over birthday presents and winning games . But none of these was evident now.

"Because you worry about me. You care how I feel." She smiled at me.

"Of course I do, Ronni. You're my best friend."

"You keep saying that, Dave. What about the people you work with?" she looked at me, those brown eyes soft, questioning.

"Oh, I have a lot of good friends, Ronni," I said. "You saw some of them visit. But who's here, taking care of me, when she could be out having a life this summer?"

"Dave, who comes to my games and who played team dad while Dad was overseas? I owe you. Besides, you're always here when I need you."

"Go take your shower before we start cryin' and huggin', babe." I said. She left. And left me thinking. Fifteen minutes later I heard the water stop running, then the sound of a hair dryer. Then another fifteen minutes for jawline-length brown hair to be brushed and dried to a shiny completion.

And Ronni walked in. I'd seen Ronni in a lot of different outfits over the years, jeans and a blouse or a shirt, or one of those abbreviated shorts and jersey things for softball or volleyball, or even a bathing suit, and she looked good in a dress, from a cute seven year old going to church with her mom and dad ten years ago to an understated formal for prom a few weeks back.

None of those prepared me for Ronni in a nightshirt that was essentially an oversized, overlength t-shirt. Oh, to be sure, it covered her from her neck to almost her knees, but it was cotton and underneath, well, I could see that she had panties on. And no bra. And long, athletically-formed legs. Not grotesquely muscular, just firm and well-shaped. I was trying not to stare.

"Whew!" she said. "I feel soooo much better! I needed a bath."

"Yeah, I know how good it felt when you finished mine," I said.

"I can imagine. Do you need anything, babe?" she asked.

"Nope," I said. "Relax. You've done plenty for me today." I didn't say 'including getting my heart rate up with that nightshirt'. And "babe". She called me "babe". "Here! Get the remote and find something for us."

She picked it up after I tossed it artlessly with my good hand and started punching through channels. Finally she found something on "Animal Planet" that looked good. We watched together for an hour, then started another episode in the sequence, and then it was bedtime.

"I'm gonna need a couple of those pain pills, Ron," I said.

She got up and retrieved the medicine and a glass of water. I took my medicine. She helped me into the wheelchair again and wheeled me to the bathroom. "You need to tinkle before you go to bed, so you won't have to get up at night, babe."

"You're a smart lady," I said. Instead of trying to sit again, I used Ronni's arms to help me to a standing position and then fumbled at the fly of my pajamas until I got my dick out. As I was peeing, I glanced over. Ronni's eyes were turned away. Finishing, I gave it a couple of shakes and managed to get it back inside my PJ's, then with minimal effort I sat back down and let Ronni move me to my bed. She turned back the covers and we worked my damaged body onto the bed.

"Uh, Ronni," I asked, "I forgot to ask you. Where are you planning on sleeping? There're blankets and pillows if you want to use the sofa. Or you can use Brittney's room." I kept my daughter's room intact for the rare occasions that she was over for a visit.

But Ronni had a different idea. "I'm sleeping in here, Dave," she said quietly. "In case you need something during the night."

"Uh, Ronni," I stammered, "in the same bed? Your folks..."

"Mom trusts me, Dave. And I trust YOU, not to mention the fact that you can't hardly scratch yourself, much less try to have your way with me..." she smiled. "So relax. I won't kick you. I don't move much in my sleep."

"You're serious?!?!"

"About you... uh, taking care of you? Yes I am." She walked to the opposite side of the bed and turned on a lamp, then turned off the overhead lights. And crawled into my bed. As she stretched her legs under the covers, she asked, "Do you like music on when you go to sleep?"

I could feel the painkillers beginning to work. "Yes I do. If you punch that clock radio..."

She punched. "Oooohhhh, late night classical. I listen to this..."

She was on my right side. I felt her hand reach for mine, grasp my fingers, and squeeze. "G'nite, Dave. And by the way, this is the first time I've been in bed with a guy..."

"Ronni, that's..." I started.

"Oh, don't get worked up. You KNOW what I mean... g'nite." She giggled and I felt the bed move, then her breath against my cheek, then a chaste kiss. And I drifted off. I could always blame the strange dreams on the drugs, right?
